ps' 


THE    ATHEN/EUM    PRESS    SERIES 

G.  L.  KITTREDGE   and   C.  T.  WINCHESTER 

GENERAL    EDITORS 


sLbc 

atbena:um  Ipress  Series. 

This  series  is  intended  to  furnish  a 
library  of  the  best  English  literature 
from  Chaucer  to  the  present  time  in  a 
form  adapted  to  the  needs  of  both  the 
student  and  the  general  reader.  The 
works  selected  are  carefully  edited,  with 
biographical  and  critical  introductions, 
full  explanatory  notes,  and  other  neces- 
sary apparatus. 


atbeua^iim    ipress    Series 


POEMS 


;vVILLIAM     WORDSWORTH 


A  SELECTION    EUITEU    BY 


EDWARD    DOWDEN 

PKOFESSOK   OF   ENGLISH    LITERATl'KE    IN    THE    UNIVERSITY    OF    DUBLIN 


Boston,  U.S.A.,  and  London 
GINN    &    COMPANY,    PUBLISHERS 

QTbe  SltljCttafUTn  preee 

1897 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall 


Copyright,   1897 
By   GINN  &   COMPANY 

ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVEJ) 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNM 

SAxMA  BARBARA 


fln  /nbemoriam 

M.  D. 


PREFACE. 


This  volume  gives,  as  far  as  the  space  permits,  what  I 
believe  to  be  Wordsworth's  best  poems  in  the  best  text. 
With  a  very  few-  exceptions  all  the  pieces  chosen  by  Matthew 
Arnold  are  included  ;  but  considerable  additions  to  these 
have  been  made.  Doubtless  every  lover  of  Wordsworth's 
poetry  will  regret  the  absence  of  something  which  he  highly 
esteems.  This  is  inevitable;  but  I  trust  that  nothing  is 
admitted  which  a  lover  of  Wordsworth  will  consider  unde- 
serving of  a  place.  The  Selection  is  not  designed  as  a  substi- 
tute for  the  complete  Poetical  Works  ;  it  is  rather  hoped  that 
readers  as  they  use  this  volume  will  keep  by  them  the  Poeti- 
cal Works,  in  any  edition  which  preserves  Wordsworth's  own 
arrangement.  The  best  text  in  one  volume  is  that  edited 
by  the  most  learned  and  accurate  of  Wordsworth  scholars 
—  Mr.  Thomas  Hutchinson.  A  chronological  table,  such  as 
may  be  seen  in  the  seventh  volume  of  the  Aldine  edition, 
will  be  found  useful. 

Matthew  Arnold's  choice  of  poems  was  excellent  ;  his 
choice  of  a  text  was  not  judicious  :  probably  his  own  early 
associations  of  pleasure  were  with  that  inferior  text.  In 
some  instances  he  did  what  was  illegitimate,  —  he  silently 
manufactured  a  text  of  his  own.  such  as  Wordsworth  had 
never  sanctioned  or  seen,  by  piecing  together  readings  from 
more  editions  than  one.      The  text  here  sfiven  is  that  whicli 


viii  PREFACE. 

Wordsworth  finally  approved  ;  and,  besides  being  the  author- 
itative, it  is,  on  the  whole,  the  best  text. 

Wordsworth's  general  design  in  arranging  his  poems  nec- 
essarily disappears  from  a  volume  which  does  not  include 
"  The  Excursion  "  as  a  whole.  The  chronological  arrange- 
ment has  been  adopted  as  the  most  instructive  to  a  student. 
In  the  Political  Sonnets,  although  they  are  only  a  selection 
from  the  series,  the  sequence,  as  determined  by  Wordsworth, 
has  been  followed. 

I  hope  that  some  readers  will  not  trouble  themselves  with 
the  notes,  and  that  all  readers  w411  sink  into  the  beauty  of 
the  poems  before  they  concern  themselves  with  questions  as 
to  dates,  occasions,  sources,  or  text.  But  if  notes  on  Words- 
worth's poems  are  to  be  read,  it  will  be  found  profitable  to 
pay  careful  attention  to  the  variations  of  text.  From  no 
other  poet  can  so  much  be  learnt  as  to  the  craftsmanship  of 
the  poetic  art.  In  the  Aldihe  edition  I  recorded  the  more 
interesting  various  readings.  The  same  facts,  with  reference 
to  most  of  the  poems  included,  are  here  set  down  ;  but  in 
many  instances  I  have  added  what  1  suppose  to  have  been 
Wordsworth's  reason  for  the  changes  which  he  made,  and  in 
the  Introduction  1  encourage  the  student  to  think  out  for 
himself,  in  other  instances,  the  motives  of  the  poet.  If  a 
distinction  may  be  made  between  textual  and  literary  criti- 
cism, 1  think  I  may  claim  that  these  textual  notes  are  also 
in  the  truest  sense  literary. 

Errors  in  matters  involving  a  multitude  of  details  are,  I 
know,  sure  to  occur ;  but  I  hope  that  the  mistakes  in  my 
attempted  record  of  facts  do  not  largely  exceed  the  inevi- 
table mar<rin  of  error. 

K.  I). 


CONTENTS 


The  figures  ift  f>arc>ithesis  refer  to  ihe  pages  of  the  Xotes. 


PAGE 

Introduction. 

I.  Facts  of  Wordsworth's  Life     ......  xvii 

II.  Characteristics  of  Wordsworth's  Genius       .         .  .xxxvii 

III.  Wordsworth  in  Relation  to  his  Age         .  xlvii 

IV.  Development  of  Wordsworth's  Genius        .         .         .  hi 
V.  Classification  of  Wordsworth's  Poems    ....  L\.\ix 

VI.  The  Text  of  Wordsworth's  Poems      ....  Ixxxiv 

VII.  Wordsworth's  Prose  Works  as  Illustrating  his  Poems    .  civ 

Bibliographical  Note  ........  cxv 


If  Thou  indeed  Derive  thy  Light  from  Heaven     (355) 

Lines  Left  upon  a  Seat  in  a  Vew-Tree     (356) 

Margaret;  or  the  Ruined  Cottage     (357)   . 

The  Reverie  of  Poor  Susan     (359) 

A  Night-Piece     (359)  ...  .         . 

^We  are  Seven     (360)      ...... 

Simon  Lee,  the  Old  Huntsman     (361) 

Lines  Written  in  Early  Spring     (t,(^^) 

To  my  Sister     (364)    ....... 

Expostulation  and  Reply     (364)     .... 

The  Tables  Turned     (365)  ..... 

The  Complaint  of  a  Forsaken  Indian  Woman     (365) 
The  Old  Cumberland  Peggar     (366)  .  .  .  .. 


2 

3 

5 

22 

23 
24 

27 
30 
3' 
3- 
34 
35 
■\^ 


CONTENTS. 


Animal  Tranquillity  and  Decay     (368)  . 

Lines  Composed  a  Few  Miles  above  Tintern  Abbey     (368) 

There  was  a  Boy     (370)  ..... 

Strange  Fits  of  Passion  have  I  Known     (372)    . 

She  Dwelt  among  the  Untrodden  Ways     (y]~) 

I  Travelled  among  Unknown  Men     (373) 

Three  Years  She  Grew  in  Sun  and  Shower     (373) 

A  Slumber  did  my  Spirit  Seal     (373) 

A  Poet's  Epitaph     (374)  .... 

-Lucy  Gray;   or,  Solitude     (374) 

'  Ruth     (375) 

I  Influences  of  Beauty  and  Fear  in  Boyhood     (379) 

Influence  of  Natural  Objects     (380) 

Nutting     (3S0)     ....... 

vMatthew     (382) 

The  Two  April  Mornings     (382) 

The  Fountain     (383)       ..... 

Ilart-Leap  Well     (384) 

The  Brothers     (386) 

The  Pet-Lamb     (390)  ..... 

Poems  on  the  Naming  of  Places,  I.     (391)    ■ 

Poems  on  the  Naming  of  Places,   II.     To  Joanna     (391 

Poems  on  the  Naming  of  Places,  III.     (393) 

The  Childless  Father     (393)  .... 

Michael     (394) 

Fragment  from  The  Recluse     (399) 

The  Sparrow's  Nest     (400) 

To  a  Young  Lady     (400)         .... 

Alice  Fell;  or,  Poverty     (401)    .    - 

Beggars     (402)        

Sequel  to  the  Foregoing      (405) 
I  To  a  Butterfly     {406) 

To  the  Cuckoo      (406)  .... 


COXTENTS  xi 

PAGE 

My  Heart  Leaps  up  when  I  Behold     (409) 137 

\,    -    Q    Written  in   March,  while    Resting  on   the   Bridge  at  the  Foot  of 

Brother's  Water     (409) 137 

The  Redbreast  Chasing  the  Butterfly     (410) 138 

To  a  Butterfly     (411) 140 

To  the  Small  Celandine     (I'ansies,  lilies)     (411)   .         .         .         .140 

To  the  Same  flower     (Pleasures  newly  found)      (412)       •         -  143 

Resolution  and  Independence     (413)      ......  145 

Stanzas  Written  in  my  Pocket-Copy  of  Thomson's  Castle  of  Indo- 
lence    (416)     ..........  150 

A  Farewell     (417) 153 

_  To  H.C.     (418) 155 

To  the  Daisy     (In  youth  from  rock  to  rock)     (419)        -         •         •  156 

To  the  Same  Flower     (With  little  here)     (421)           .         .         .  159 

To  the  Daisy     (Bright  flower '.)     (421) 161 

When  to  the  Attractions  of  the  Busy  World     (422)  .         .         .  162 

The  Green  Linnet     (424)         ........  165 

_  Yew-Trees     (425) 167 

.At  the  Grave  of  Burns.  1803     (426) 168 

Thoughts  Suggested  the  Day  Following     (428)           .         .         .  171 

To  a  Highland  Girl     (42S) -173 

Glen  Almain;  or,  the  Narrow  (ilen     (430)          ....  176 

Stepping  Westward     (430)     .         •         .         ■         ■         •         •         -177 

The  .Solitary  Reaper     (431)         •         •         •         •         •         •         •  i/S 

/  C/    Address  to  Kilchurn  Castle,  upon  Loch  .\we     (433)      •         •         ■  179 

Yarrow  Un visited     (433)     •         *■                   •         •         •  i^i 

Lines  on  the  E.xpected  Invasion,  1S03     (434)         ....  183 

'^  She  was  a  Phantom  of  Delight     (435) 184 

I  Wandered  Lonely  as  a  Cloud     (436)  .         .         .         .         .         .185 

The  Atfliction  of  Margaret (436) 186 

Address  to  my  Infant  Daughter,  Dora     (437)          ....  189 

The  Small  Celandine     (There  is  a  flower)      (438)       .  191 

Morning  among  the  Mountains  (from  The  Prelude,  Book  iv)    (438)  192 


CONTENTS. 


The  Ascent  of  Snowdon   (from  The  I'lelude,  Kook  xiv)   (43S) 
The  Simplon  Pass     (4^9)        ....... 

Mist  Opening  in  the  Hills   (from  The   I'lxcursion,  Book  ii)     (439) 
French  Revolution     (439)       ....... 

Ode  to  Duty     (440) 

To  a  Sky-Lark      (Up  with  me)     (44-)    ..... 

Fidelity     (443) 

Elegiac  Stanzas  Suggested  Ijy  a  Picture  of  Peele  Castle     (444) 


Character  of  the  Happy  Warrior     (445) 


194 
198 
198 
200 
202 
204 
205 
207 
209 
212 

213 

214 
216 
21S 
218 
221 


.\  Complaint     (446)         ........ 

Stray  Pleasures     (447)         ........ 

Power  of  Music     (447)    ........ 

Star-Gazers     (448)       .  .         ... 

Yes,  it  was  the  Mountain  I'.cho     (448)   ..... 

Personal  Talk     (449)  ......... 

Lines  Composed  at  Grasmere     (Loud  is  the  Vale)     (450) 
Ode.      Intimation  of  Immortality     (45O    ..... 

O  Nightingale  !  Thou  surely  art     (454)  .... 

Song  at  the  Feast  of  Brougham  Castle     (45=;)  ... 

The  Force  of  Prayer:  or  the  Founding  of  Bolton  Pricny     (459) 

Characteristics  of  a  Child  Three  Years  Old     (460)     . 

Sources  of  Spiritual  Strength  (from  The  Excursion,  Book  iv)  (460)     238 

Greek  Divinities    (from  The  Excursion,  Book  iv)    (461)     .         .         242 

The  Sea-Shell    (from  The  P^xcursion,  Book  iv)    (461)     .  .  .     243 

Laodamia     (461)  .........  245 

^'arro^v  Visited     (465)    .         .         .        •.         .         .         .         .         -251 

Dion      (466) 254 

The  Swan  on  Locarno    .........     258 

Ode  to  Lycoris.    May,  1817     (469)  .....         259 

The  Longest  Day     (470) 26 1 

Composed    upon    an    F'vening   of    I'lxtraordinary    Splendour   and 

Beauty     (470) ...         264 

Septeniher,  i8t9      (The  sylvan  slojies)      (471)  .  .267 


CONTEXTS. 


SONNKTS. 


POLITICAL    SONNETS. 


I'AOK 


Upon  the  Same  Occasion     (Departing  summer)     (471)     .         .  268 

To  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wordsworth     (472) 270 

To  the  Lady  Fleming     (473) 273 

To (O  dearer  far  than  light)     {474) 277 

Written  in  a  Blank  Leaf  of  Macpherson's  Ussian     (474)    .         .  277 

To  a  Sky-Lavk     (Ethereal  minstrel)      (475) 280 

The  Daisy  Sleeps     (476) 280 

To  May     (476) 282 

The  Wishing-Gate     (476) 285 

In  these  Fair  Vales  hath  Many  a  Tree     (477)        ■         •         •         •  288 

The  Primrose  of  the  Rock     (477) 288 

"^ A' arrow  Revisited     (47S)         .         .         ...         .         .         .290 

Devotional  Incitements     (479) 294 

Calm  is  the  Fragrant  Air     (4S0) 296 

If  this  Great  World  of  Joy  and  I'ain     (480)        ....  297 
On  a  High  Part  of  the  Coast  of  Cumberland     (4S0)      .         .         .298 

Not  in  the  Lucid  Intervals  of  Life     (480) 299 

To  a  Child     (4S1) 300 

Written  after  the  Death  of  Charles  Lamb     (4S1)        .         ..         .  300 

Extempore  Effusion  upon  the  Death  of  James  Hogg     (482)           .  304 


Composed  by  the  Seaside,  near  Calais,  August,  1802      (Fair  star) 

(483)  .  .  : 307 

Calais,  August.  1S02     (Is  it  a  reed .?)      (4S4)    .  ...  307 

1 801     (I  grieved  for  Buonaparte)     (484)      .....  308 

On  the  Extinction  of  the  Venetian  Republic     (485)        .         .         .  309 

To  Toussaint  L'Ouverture     (486)        ......  309 

September,  1802,  near  Dover     (486)       ......  310 


xiv  CONTEXTS. 

PAGE 

Thought  of  a  Briton  on  the  Subjugation  of  Switzerland     (487)  310 
Written  in  London,  September,  1S02     (O  friend)     (487)       .         -3'' 

London,  1802     (Milton!)     (4S8) 311 

It  is  not  to  be  Thought  of  that  the  Flood     (489)   ....  312 

When  I  have  Borne  in  Memory  what  has  Tamed     (489)    ■  312 

October,  1803     (These  times  strike  monied  worldlings)     (489)      .  313 

In  the  Pass  of  Killicranky     (490)  314 

To  the  Men  of  Kent,  October,  1803     (4901 314 

November,  1806     (Another  year  I)     (491)  .....  315 

To  Thomas  Clarkson     (491)  ■                                                       •         •  S'S 

Composed  by  the  Side  of  Grasmere  Lake,  1807     (492)           .  316 
Composed  while  the  Author  was  Engaged  in  Writing  a  Tract, 

Occasioned  by  the  Convention  of  Cintra     (492)  317 

181 1  (Alas  I  what  boots  the  long,  laborious  quest)      (492)  317 

181 1  (The  power  of  Armies  is  a  visible  thing)     (493)  311 

181 1  (Here  pause:  the  poet  claims  at  least  this  praise)       (493)  318 

MTSCELL.\NEOUS     .SONNETS. 

Composed  upon  Westminster  Bridge     {494)                 •         •         •  319 
It  is  a  Beauteous  Evening.  Calm  and  Free     (495)           •         .         •  319 
Composed  after  a   Journey   across  the  Hambleton   Hills,  York- 
shire    (495) 320 

Those  Words  were  Uttered  as  if  in  l'ensi\e  Mood     (49^^)     •         •  320 

Composed  at  [Xeidpath]  Ca.stle     (497)       ■         •         ■         •         •  321 

Nuns  Fret  not  at  their  Convent's  Narrow  Room     (497)  322 

Admonition     (498)      .........  322 

The  World  is  too  Much  with  iis     (49S) 323 

To  Sleep     (499) .  323 

Where  Lies  the  Land  to  which  Von  Ship  must  (io?     (499I  .  324 

To  the  Memory  of  Raisley  Calvert     (499)  .....  324 

Methought  I  Saw  the  Footsteps  of  a  Throne     (500)      .         .         .  325 

Brook  !  whose  Society  the  Poet  Seeks     (500)     ....  325 

To  Lady  Beaumont     (500)      ........  326 


COyTEXTS. 


Upon  the  Sight  of  a  Beautiful  Picture     (501)      ....  327 

Surprised  by  Joy  —  Impatient  as  the  Wind     (501)  .  327 

Hail,  Twilight,  Sovereign  of  One  Peaceful  Hour     (501)  32S 

I  Watch,  and  Long  have  Watched,  with  Calm  Regret     (5or)         .  328 

To  B.  R.  Haydon     (502) 329 

November  i    (How  clear,  how  keen)     (=;o3)  .....  329 

Sole  Listener,  Duddon     (503)     .......  330 

The  Plain  of  Donnerdale     {503)     .......  330 

Return,  Content  I     (504)      ...  ■         ■         ■  ZZ^ 

After-Thought     (504) 332 

Between  Namur  and  Liege      (504)  ......  332 

The  Monument  commonly  Called   Long  Meg  and  her  Daughters, 

near  the  River  Eden     (505)     .......  333 

Seclusion     (505) 333 

Seclusion,  continued     (506)  .......  334 

Rural  Ceremony     (506)       ........  335 

Mutability     (507) 335 

Inside  of  King's  College  Chapel,  Cambridge     (507)   .         .         .  336 

The  Same     (What  awful  perspective)     (507)  ....  336 

The  Same,  continued     (They  dreamed  not  of  a  perishable  home) 

{507) 337 

A  Parsonage  in  Oxfordshire     (508)     ......  337 

A  Volant  Tribe  of  Bards  on  Earth  are  Found     (50S)     .  33S 

Not  Love,  not  War,  nor  the  Tumultuous  Swell       (508)  338 

To  [Lady  Fitzgerald],  in  her  Seventieth  Year     (509)     .  .  .  339 

Scorn  not  the  Sonnet     (509)        .......  339 

To  Rotha  QuUlinan     (510)     .  .  340 

In  my  Mind's  Eye  a  Temple,  like  a  Cloud  (510)  .  .  340 
On    the    Departure    of    Sir    Walter    Scott   from    Abbotsford,    for 

Naples     (510)      .  .  .         .         .  341 

The  Trossachs     (511)  .         .         .         .         .         .  341 

The  Pibroch's  Note,  Discountenanced  or  Mute      (511).  .  .  342 

Eagles     (511) 342 


co.vy/JA'ys. 


nighhuul  Hut     (512) ...  34;, 

To  the  Planet  Venus,  an  Evening  Star     (51.:)     .          .          .          .  343 

Roman  Antiquitie.s     (512)       .                   .  .     344 

To  the  Author's  Portrait     (512)           .....  345 

In  Sight  of  the  Town  of  Cockermouth     (512)         .  .     345 

Mary  Queen  of  .Scots     (513)       .......  346 

])esire  We  Past  lUusions  to  Recall .''     (513)   •         •         •         •  ■     346 

Hy  the  Seashore,  I.sle  of  Man      (513)  •          ■          •'         ■          •          ■  347 

There  !  Said  a  .Stripling,  Pointing  with  Meet  I'ride     (514)  •     347 

Tranquillity!  the  Sovereign  Aim  wert  Thou     (514)   •  348 

Most  Sweet  It  is  with  Unuplifted  Eyes     (515)  .     348 

Composed  on  a  May  Morning     (515)  349 

A  Poet  !  —  He  hath  Put  his  Heart  to  School     (515)                ■  .     350 

The  Pine  of  Monte  Mario  at  Rome     (516)           ....  350 

To  a  Painter     (516)         .........  351 

On  the  Same  Subject     (Though  I  beheld)     (si*^))       •         •  351 

Wansfell  1  this  Household  has  a  Favoured  Lot      (516)           .  .     352 

Indf-.x  ok  First  Links     ........  517 


NTRODUCTION. 


I.     FACTS   OF    WORDSWORTH'S   LIFE. 

William  Wordsworth,  the  second  child  of  John  Words- 
worth, an  attorney,  was  born  at  Cockermouth  in  Cumber- 
land, on  April  7,  1770.  His  mother,  whose  maiden  name 
was  Anne  Cookson,  was  the  daughter  of  a  mercer  at  Pen- 
rith. The  Wordsworths  were  an  old  and  respectable  York- 
shire family  ;  but  if  we  are  to  trace  an  inheritance  of  genius, 
it  must  rather  be  sought  in  the  poet's  maternal  ancestry. 
The  boy,  physically  vigorous  and  active,  was  of  a  moody 
and  violent  temper.  In  1778  his  mother  died,  and  in  the 
same  year  he  was  sent  to  the  grammar  school  at  Hawks- 
head,  close  to  Esthwaite  Lake,  where  he  remained,  boarding 
in  the  cottage  of  a  village  dame,  for  about  six  years.  A  record, 
deeply  interesting,  of  the  growth  of  his  mind  during  those 
years  may  be  read  in  the  opening  books  of  his  autobio- 
graphical poem,  "  The  Prelude."  Under  William  Taylor 
(idealized  as  the  "  Matthew  "  of  his  poems)  and  other  mas- 
ters Wordsworth  became  a  good  Latin  scholar  ;  he  read  for 
his  amusement  in  Fielding,  Swift,  Cervantes,  and  Le  Sage  ; 
but  the  chief  influences  of  the  time  were  those  of  woodland 
and  fell,  lake  and  mountain  ;  in  these  he  had  more  than 
the  common  delight  of  boyhood  —  his  animal  gladness  was 
often  spiritualized,  or  startled  and  awed  by  imaginative 
perceptions  and  feelings.  Already  as  a  schoolboy  he  had 
begun  to  write  in  verse  ;  and  among  these  early  composi- 
tions, he  tells  us,  was  "  a  long  poem  running  upon  my  own 


xviii  introduction: 

adventures,  and  the  scenery  of  the  country  in  which  I  was 
brought  up." 

Before  his  fourteenth  year  was  complete  Wordsworth  had 
lost  his  father.  He  passed  with  his  brothers  —  Richard, 
afterwards  a  solicitor,  Christopher,  the  future  Master  of 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  and  John,  who  was  to  become 
a  sailor  —  under  the  guardianship  of  uncles,  and  in  1787 
was  entered  as  a  student  at  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge. 
In  consequence  of  having  a  considerable  start  of  his  fellow- 
students  in  mathematics,  he  had  abundance  of  leisure  time. 
He  did  not  aim  at  university  distinctions,  but  read  classical 
authors  for  his  pleasure,  studied  Italian  under  an  acquaint- 
ance of  the  poet  Gray,  Agostino  Isola,  learned  some  French 
and  a  little  Spanish,  and  enjoyed,  without  excess,  the  social 
^  pleasures  of  the  place.  (  The  periods  most  stimulating  to  his 
mind  were  the  long  vacations;  the  summer  of  1788  was 
spent  among  the  English  lakes;  in  1789  he  wandered  amid 
the  beautiful  scenery  of  Derbyshire  and  Yorkshire  with  his 
sister  Dorothy  and  her  friend  Mary  Hutchinson,  both  dear 
companions;  in  the  following  year  —  during  the  early  days 
of  the  French  Revolutionary  movement — he  accomplished, 
with  his  college  friend  Robert  Jones,  a  pedestrian  tour, 
unusual  at  that  time,  through  France,  Switzerland,  and  the 
Italian  lake  country,  returning  by  the  Rhine.  His  first 
studies  of  English  landscape  are  embodied  in  his  early 
poem  "An  Evening  Walk"  ;  his  continental  travel  furnished 
the  material  for  "  Descriptive  Sketches."  These  poems  were 
separately  published  in  1793.  ) 

Having  taken  his  degree,  Wordsworth  spent  the  spring 
months  of  1791  in  London,  entering  with  much  imaginative 
interest  into  the  life  of  the  great  city.  During  the  summer  he 
was  with  his  friend  Jones  in  North  Wales ;  they  toured  on  foot 
through  valley  and  by  stream,  and  climbed  Snowdon  by 
moonlight  to  witness  from  its  summit  the  break  of  day  (see 


introduction:  xix 

"  The  Prelude,"  B,  xiv).  Wordsworth's  views  as  to  a  future 
career  were  unsettled ;  and  desiring  to  acquire  the  French 
language  more  thoroughly,  not  uninfluenced  also  by  the  new 
hopes  and  aspirations  of  France,  he  left  England  in  Novem- 
ber of  the  same  year  to  reside  for  a  time  at  Orleans.  As 
he  passed  through  Paris  he  chose  for  his  souvenir  a  pebble 
from  the  ruins  of  the  Bastille.  ^  Somewhat  austere  of  char- 
acter and  trained  to  simplicity  of  living,  he  accepted  almost 
instinctively  a  republican  faith  ;  but  this  did  not  advance 
into  distinct  consciousness  as  a  social  and  political  creed 
until  at  Blois  he  came  under  the  influence  of  a  remarkable 
and  admirable  man,  Michel  Beaupuy,  who  afterwards  highly 
distinguished  himself  as  an  officer  in  the  Republican  army, 
Wordsworth's  interest  in  external  nature  now  became  sub- 
ordinate to  his  interest  in  man  ;  he  looked  for  the  speedy 
advent  of  a  better  age,  when  the  inequalities  of  society 
should  be  redressed,  when  empty  pomp  should  be  abolished, 
when  the  injustice  of  power  should  cease,  and  when  the 
people  should  be  the  framers  of  the  laws  under  which  they 
lived^/  In  October,  1792,  he  was  in  Paris,  and  was  deeply 
agitated  by  the  events  of  the  time ;  he  would  gladly  have 
thrown  himself  into  the  political  struggles  of  France,  believ- 
ing that  one  pure  and  energetic  will  might  effect  much.  But 
his  circumstances  recalled  him  to  England,  and  in  Decem- 
ber, after  a  year  of  memorable  experiences,  he  was  once 
more  in  London.  For  a  time  he  was  doubtless  occupied 
with  the  superintendence  of  his  "  Evening  Walk  "  and  "  De- 
scriptive Sketches  "  as  they  passed  through  the  press. 

Although  in  1793  Wordsworth  defended  the  French  Revo- 
lution in  a  letter  to  Watson,  Bishop  of  Llandaff  (posthu- 
mously published),  the  course  of  events  gradually  alienated 
his  sympathies ;  he  lost  faith  in  the  leaders  of  the  move- 
ment and  exulted  when  tidings  reached  him  of  the  death  of 
Robespierre  ;    he   found  it   difficult    to    retain    faith  in  the 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

people  of  France  ;  he  still  clung  to  the  doctrine  of  the 
Revolution,  but  this  support,  too,  gave  way  ;  his  entire  view 
of  moral  and  social  questions  became  confused,  and  for  a 
while  he  fell  into  a  state  of  profound  discouragement.  The 
declaration  of  war  against  the  Republic  shocked  his  feel- 
ings ;  and  yet  his  heart  could  not  be  wholly  given  to  France. 
Gradually,  and  by  obscure  processes,  his  mental  health  was 
restored  ;  his  belief  in  the  Revolutionary  theories  was  gone  ; 
but  he  gained  even  a  deeper  sense  of  the  dignity  of  man, 
a  deeper  interest  in  human  joys  and  sorrows ;  he  felt  the 
sanative  touch  of  nature ;  hope  returned  to  him  in  a  purified 
form.  And  during  the  dark  hours  his  sister's  influence  was 
one  of  healing ;  her  sense  of  beauty  was  as  quick  and  sure 
as  his  own  ;  she  had  not  perplexed  her  soul  with  tangled 
speculations  ;  her  temper  was  gentler  than  his  ;  her  sym- 
pathies were,  not  deeper  indeed,  but  more  delicate ;  she 
lived  less  in  ideas  than  he,  but  came  nearer  to  a  thousand 
little,  yet  precious,  realities. 

\  In  the  summer  of  1793  Wordsworth,  in  company  with  his 
friend  William  Calvert  of  Windybrow,  Keswick,  visited  the 
Isle  of  Wight.  The  sight  of  the  fleet  off  Portsmouth,  pre- 
paring for  war,  filled  him  with  gloomy  anticipations  ;  and 
as  he  wandered,  a  little  later,  for  two  days  over  Salisbury 
Plain,  the  thought  of  the  calamities  of  the  poor,  consequent 
upon  war,  weighed  upon  him.  From  such  reflections  origi- 
nated that  powerful  narrative  of  suffering  and  crime  named, 
when  first  published  in  full  in  1842,  "Guilt  and  Sorrow." 
Having  seen  Stonehenge,  Salisbury,  and  Bath,  he  journeyed 
by  the  Wye  to  the  home  of  his  friend  Jones  in  Denbighshire. 
On  the  way  he  visited  Tintern  Abbey,  and  at  Goodrich 
Castle  met  the  little  cottage  girl  of  his  "  We  are  Seven. "j 
The  remainder  of  the  year  was  spent  with  his  friend  in 
Wales.  But  the  North  of  England  and  his  desire  for  his 
sister's  presence  drew  him   away.     VV^ith  her  —  an  indefati- 


INTKODUCTIOiW  xxi 

gable  pedestrian  —  he  explored  parts  of  the  lake  country  in 
the  days  of  spring,  and  again,  alone  or  in  her  company, 
when  the  woods  and  hills  showed  their  autumn  colors. 
From  the  Calverts'  house  near  Keswick  he  consulted  a 
friend  as  to  the  possibility  of  his  obtaining  work  as  a  jour- 
nalist, and  he  even  conceived  the  notion  of  starting  a 
monthly  miscellany  under  the  title  of  "  The  Philanthro- 
pist." Such  schemes  were  little  suited  to  the  genius  of  the 
poet ;  and,  happily  for  literature,  the  generosity  of  a  dying 
friend,  whose  confidence  in  Wordsworth's  powers  must  have 
supported  his  own  declining  life,  delivered  him  from  the 
necessity  of  alien  task-work.  Early  in  1795  young  Raisley 
Calvert  died,  and  it  was  found  that  he  had  made  Words- 
worth possessor  of  the  sum  of  ;!^9oo.  We  are  all  debtors 
to  that  young  man,  whose  good  deed,  inspired  by  insight 
and  faith,  enabled  a  great  poet  to  devote,  himself  to  his  high 
calling. 

How  and  where  the  summer  of  1795  passed  is  uncertain  ; 
probably  for  part  of  the  time  Wordsworth  was  in  the  North 
of  England,  for  part  of  the  time  in  London.  It  is  likely  that 
he  first  met  Coleridge  in  this  year  at  Bristol,  but  the  meeting 
did  not  yet  lead  to  close  intercourse  or  friendship.  The  loan 
of  a  house  at  Racedown,  Dorsetshire,  by  the  son  of  Mr.  Pin- 
ney,  a  Bristol  merchant,  and  the  proposal  of  Basil  Montague 
that  he  should  take  charge  of  his  little  boy,  made  Words- 
worth's way  dear ;  and  now  the  possessors  of  an  income  of 
;^7o  or  ^80  a  year,  he  and  his  sister  entered  into  occupation 
of  the  Racedown  farmhouse  in  the  days  of  autumn.  For 
a  time  he  was  engaged  upon  imitations,  never  published,  of 
the  satires  of  Juvenal,  but  for  satire  he  had  no  real  vocation. 
The  more  ambitious  enterprise  of  a  tragedy  occupied  him 
until  the  summer  of  the  following  year  ;  but  "  The  Border- 
ers "  was  not  published  until  1842.  It  is  deficient  in  action 
and  wholly  unsuited  to  the  stage  ;  yet  the  characterization 


XXll 


INTRODUCTIOiX. 


of  Marmaduke,  the  ardent  youth  who  leads  the  band  of 
borderers,  and  of  his  tempter  Oswald,  is  not  without  power ; 
remarkable  acquaintance  is  shown  with  what  may  be  called 
the  psychology  of  the  passions  ;  moral  problems  are  skill- 
fully probed;  and  certain  passages  deserve  to  be  remem- 
bered as  poetic  interpretations  of  deep  things  of  the  heart 
and  conscience.  The  rejection  of  the  drama  when  offered 
to  Covent  Garden  Theatre  was,  however,  natural  and  was 
right. 

During  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1796  there  may  have 
been  meetings  with  Coleridge,  and  when  on  the  last  day  of 
that  year  Coleridge  took  up  his  abode  in  the  cottage  at 
Nether  Stowey,  the  acquaintance  ripened  with  a  diminished 
distance  between  the  two  homes.  In  June,  1797,  Coleridge 
was  a  guest  at  Racedown,  and  felt  himself  "  a  little  man  " 
by  Wordsworth's  side.  The  story  of  "  Margaret,"  incorpo- 
rated in  "The  Excursion,"  but  then  known  as  "The  Ruined 
Cottage"  and  "  The  Borderers,"  were  read  aloud  ;  and  Cole- 
ridge in  return  repeated,  a  part  of  his  tragedy  "  Osorio." 
In  July  the  Wordsworths  accompanied  their  new  friend 
to  Nether  Stowey,  and  Coleridge  felt  not  only  the  power 
of  Wordsworth's  genius,  but  also  the  charm  of  his  "ex- 
quisite sister  "  —  "  her  information  various  ;  her  eye  watch- 
ful in  minutest  observation  of  nature  ;  her  taste  a  perfect 
electrometer.  It  bends,  protrudes,  and  draws  in  at  subtlest 
beauties  and  most  recondite  faults."  During  the  visit  Charles 
Lamb  also  made  a  brief  sojourn  at  Nether  Stowey. 

The  presence  of  Coleridge  and  the  beauty  of  the  Nether 
Stowey  district  were  strong  inducements  to  a  change  of 
residence ;  and  it  fortunately  happened  that  a  spacious 
house  at  three  miles'  distance,  surrounded  by  beautiful 
grounds,  Alfoxden,  was  to  be  obtained  at  a  trifling  rent. 
Hither  in  mid  July  came  Wordsworth  with  his  sister,  and 
for   a    time   Coleridge    and   the   Wordsworths   were   "  three 


I-NTRODUCTIOIV.  xxiii 

people,  but  one  soul."  A  delightful  record  of  their  daily 
life  remains  in  the  journal  of  Dorothy  Wordsworth  ;  but  the 
spirit  of  the  season  is  best  of  all  discovered  in  the  poems 
of  her  brother  which  were  written  at  Alfoxden  ;  in  those 
which  are  narrative  there  is  a  deep  inquisition  into  the  per- 
manent passions  of  humanity;  in  those  which  are  personal 
there  is  the  wisdom  of  a  calm  but  radiant  joy.  To  this 
period  belong  Simon  Lee,  The  Last  of  the  Flock,  The  Thorn, 
Her  Eyes  are  Wild,  and  also  Expostulation  and  Reply,  The 
Tables  Turned,  Lines  Written  in  Early  Spring,  To  My  Sister. 
On  an  autumn  excursion  on  foot  to  the  Valley  of  Stones, 
with  Wordsworth  and  his  sister,  Coleridge's  Ancient  Mariner 
was  planned,  and  as  poems  multiplied  in  manuscript,  the 
joint  volume  of  "  Lyrical  Ballads  "  was  designed.  Cole- 
ridge's contributions  were  meant  to  ennoble  romance  by 
allying  it  to  truth  of  human  feeling  ;  Wordsworth's,  to  shed 
an  ideal  light  over  reality.  The  volume,  which  opened  with 
""  The  Ancient  Mariner "  and  closed  with  "  Lines  Written 
a  few  Miles  above  Tintern  Abbey,"  was  issued  late  in  the 
year  1798  by  Cottle,  a  friendly  publisher  at  Bristol.  Before 
the  "Lyrical  Ballads"  appeared,  the  two  poets,  accompanied 
by  Dorothy  Wordsworth,  had  left  England  (September  16) 
to  spend  the  winter  in  Germany. 

At  Hamburg  they  parted,  Coleridge  proceeding  to  Ratze- 
burg,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  to  Goslar,  close  to  the 
Hartz  forest.  It  was  a  lifeless  town,  in  which  the  English 
visitors  saw  little  or  no  society,  and  the  winter  was  one 
of  extreme  severity.  Wordsworth's  heart  and  imagination 
turned  fondly  to  his  native  country  ;  he  walked  daily  on  the 
ramparts,  or  in  the  public  grounds,  having  for  his  sole  com- 
panion a  glancing  kingfisher  ;  but  in  thought  he  was  among 
the  English  woodlands  and  meadows.  During  these  months 
of  ice  and  snow  he  composed  the  "  Lucy  "  group  of  poems, 
"Ruth,"  "Lucy  Gray,"  "Nutting"  and  "The  Poet's  Epi- 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

taph."  "The  Prelude,"  a  poetical  record  of  the  growth  of 
his  own  mind,  was  conceived  in  outline,  and  some  frag- 
ments were  written.  On  Jan.  4,  1799,  Coleridge  informs  a 
friend  that  "  Wordsworth  has  left  Goslar  and  is  on  his  road 
into  higher  Saxony  to  cruise  for  a  pleasanter  place."  He 
seems  to  have  quitted  the  old  town  permanently  some  weeks 
later  (February  10)  ;  his  precise  movements  we  cannot  fol- 
low, but  we  know  that  on  April  20  or  21,  in  passing  through 
Gottingen,  he  saw  Coleridge  ;  that  he  made  speed  to  arrive 
at  Yarmouth,  and  proceeded  thence  to  visit  the  Hutchin- 
sons  at  Sockburn-on-Tees  on  the  borders  of  Durham  and 
Yorkshire. 

On  October  26  he  was  still  at  Sockburn  when  Coleridge 
returned  from  Germany,  and,  having  Cottle  for  his  com- 
panion, came  to  see  their  friend.  Almost  immediately  the 
three  started  for  a  tour  to  the  English  Lakes  ;  at  Greta 
Bridge  Cottle  parted  from  the  others,  and  the  travellers  were 
joined  by  Wordsworth's  brother  John,  Desirous  to  find  a 
place  of  abode,  Wordsworth  was  much  attracted  to  Gras- 
mere,  and  noticed  a  small  house,  at  the  part  of  the  village 
known  as  Townend,  which  was  vacant.  A  little  later  the 
small  house  was  taken  ;  and  in  midwinter,  with  his  sister, 
Wordsworth  proceeded  chiefly  on  foot  from  Sockburn  to 
Grasmere,  a  wild  journey,  but  full  of  enjoyment ;  they  en- 
tered their  cottage  on  the  evening  of  December  20.^  ^On 
the  way,  near  a  spring  about  three  miles  from  Richmond, 
a  peasant  had  related  to  them  the  tradition  which  forms  the 
subject  of  "  Hart-leap  Well." 

With  Dove  Cottage,  Grasmere,  much  of  Wordsworth's 
noblest  poetry  is  associated.  It  was  chiefly  composed  in 
the  open  air,  while  he  sat  in  his  cottage  garden  or  roamed 
among  the  hills  ;  and  strong  as  was  his  frame  of  body,  he 
was  often  exhausted  when  evening  came,  by  the  intensity 

1  St.  Thomas'  Eve,  not  as  commonly  stated  St.  Thomas'  evening. 


INTKO])UCTION.  XXV 

of  his  imaginative  excitement.  His  manner  of  life  was  in 
the  utmost  degree  simple  and  frugal,  but  he  and  his  sister 
were  rich  in  the  best  pleasures  of  the  mind  ;  and  small  as 
was  their  dwelling,  they  found  space  in  it  for  hospitality. 
Their  brother  John,  their  beloved  friend  Mary  Hutchinson, 
Coleridge  and  his  wife,  were  visitors  at  Dove  Cottage  in  the 
year  1800.  By  the  close  of  that  year  a  new  edition  of 
"  Lyrical  Ballads,"  with  an  added  second  volume,  was  ready 
for  publication.  Among  the  poems  which  now  appeared 
were  "  Michael,"  "  The  Brothers,"  "  Ruth,"  and  "  Poems  on 
the  Naming  of  Places."  To  the  first  volume  was  prefixed 
a  remarkable  preface,  setting  forth  certain  principles  which 
guided  the  poet  in  his  art,  and  expounding  his  views  on  the 
subject  of  poetic  diction.  Later  editions  of  "  Lyrical  Bal- 
lads "  were  published  in  1802  and  1805.J 

The  year  1801  was  one  of  pause  in  Wordsworth's  cre- 
ative activity;  he  modernized  the  old  poem  "The  Cuckoo 
and  the  Nightingale,"  Chaucer's  "  Prioresse  Tale,"  and  a 
passage  from  Chaucer's  "  Troilus  and  Cressida,"  but  pro- 
duced little  original  work.  In  the  spring  of  1802  his  imagi- 
native energy  reawakened ;  almost  every  day  some  new 
lyric  came  into  existence  or  was  carried  towards  completion, 
and  now  for  the  first  time  he  studiously  cultivated  the  son- 
net. At  the  close  of  July,  taking  advantage  of  the  short 
peace  with  the  French,  he  crossed  the  channel  with  his 
sister  and  spent  a  month  at  Calais.  Wordsworth's  sympa- 
thies were  now  detached  from  France  and  were  wholly 
given  to  the  land  of  his  birth  ;  his  views  of  the  French 
people  and  their  ruler,  his  fears  and  hopes  for  England,  are 
expressed  in  a  series  of  admirable  sonnets  written  on  the 
seacoast  of  France  or  in  London  after  his  return.  But 
public  interests  did  not  entirely  occupy  his  heart  ;  he  had 
obtained  the  promise  of  Mary  Hutchinson  that  she  would 
be  his  wife,  and  on  Oct.  4,   1802,  the  marriage  was  cele- 


XXVI 


IN  TROD  UC  TION. 


brated  at  Brompton  in  Yorkshire.  It  was  a  marriage  founded 
on  deep  affection  and  one  full  of  blessings  for  his  entire 
life.  Mary  Wordsworth  was  not  beautiful  in  person,  except 
as  goodness  creates  a  beauty  of  its  own  ;  her  temper  of 
happy  tranquillity  and  love,  her  steadfast  household  energy, 
her  wisdom  of  good  sense,  her  womanly  strength,  her  sure 
instinct  for  literary  beauty  made  her  a  fitting  wife  for 
Wordsworth.  How  deep  were  his  joy,  his  tenderness,  and 
his  unwavering  love  may  be  read  in  the  last  book  of  "  The 
Prelude,"  in  the  stanzas  "  She  was  a  Phantom  of  Delight"  ; 
in  the  poem,  among  those  on  the  "Naming  of  Places,"  "To 
M.  H.,"  in  the  lines  beginning  "  Oh,  dearer  far  than  life  or 
light  are  dear"  ;  and  in  the  touching  sonnet  "  To  a  Painter," 
written  after  thirty-eight  years  of  wedded  life  :  ' 

Morn  into  noon  did  pass,  noon  into  eve, 
And  the  old  day  was  welcome  as  the  young, 
As  welcome  and  as  beautiful  ^ — in  sooth 
More  beautiful  as  being  a  thing  more  holy  : 
Thanks  to  thy  virtues,  to  the  eternal  youth 
Of  all  thy  goodness,  never  melancholy  ; 
To  thy  large  heart  and  humble  mind,  that  cast 
Into  one  vision  future,  present,  past. 

Mary  Wordsworth  survived  her  husband  some  years,  dying 
on  Jan.  17,  1859  ;  she  was  buried  by  his  side  in  Grasmere 
churchyard. 

In  June,  1803,  Wordsworth's  first  child  ^ — a  son  —  was 
born,  and  two  months  later,  accompanied  by  Dorothy,  and 
for  part  of  the  way  by  Coleridge  (who  since  1800  had  re- 
sided at  Greta  Hall,  Keswick),  he  visited  some  of  the  most 
interesting  scenes  in  Scotland.  A  detailed  account  of  the 
tour  is  given  in  the  journal  of  Dorothy  Wordsworth,  a  record 
inspired  by  the  delight  of  wandering,  and  showing  every- 
where the  writer's  exquisite  sensibility  to  natural  beauty. 
Some  of  her  brother's  most  radiant    and   spiritual   poems 


INTRODUCTION.  xxvii 

belong  to  this  Scottish  tour.  In  the  first  week  Wordsworth 
looked  upon  the  grave  of  Burns ;  in  the  last,  at  Lasswade 
he  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  great  contemporary,  Walter 
Scott.  Scott  partly  read  for  the  travelers  and  partly  re- 
cited, in  an  enthusiastic  style  of  chant,  the  first  four  cantos 
of  "  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  "  ;  he  accompanied  them 
to  Rosslyn,  met  them  again  at  Melrose,  and  was  their  guide 
up  the  Teviot  to  Hawick,  with  a  legend  or  ballad,  says 
Lockhart,  on  his  lips  associated  with  every  tower  or  rock 
they  passed. 

During  the  year  1804  Wordsworth  was  at  work  upon 
"  The  Prelude,"  which,  before  December  closed,  had  reached 
the  eleventh  book.  Early  in  the  following  year  came  the 
first  great  sorrow  since  his  boyhood.  His  brother  John, 
captain  of  an  East  Indiaman,  perished  in  the  wreck  of  his 
ship  (February  5)  two  miles  from  Weymouth  Beach  ;  to  the 
last  his  bearing  had  been  calm  and  in  every  way  exemplary. 
John  W^ordsworth  was  a  man  of  high  character,  a  lover  of 
literature,  a  lover  of  nature,  and  the  sympathy  between  the 
brothers  had  been  complete  ;  they  had  not  met  since  their 
parting  at  Grisdale  Farm  on  Michaelmas  day,  1800.  Words- 
worth conveyed  something  of  his  brother's  spirit  into  his 
poem  "  The  Happy  Warrior,"  which  presents  a  lofty  ideal 
of  heroic  manhood  ;  his  sense  of  the  discipline  of  pain  is 
expressed  in  the  "  Elegiac  Stanzas,  suggested  by  a  Picture 
of  Peele  Castle."  His  grief  was  deep  and  abiding;  his  joy 
in  life  was,  indeed,  not  quenched,  but  the  happiness  that 
continued  to  be  his  took  upon  itself  a  sober  coloring.  He 
threw  himself  upon  poetical  work,  partly  as  a  refuge  from 
pain,  and  by  the  middle  of  May,  1805,  had  brought  "The 
Prelude  "  to  a  close. 

The  sorrow  which  matured  Wordsworth's  mind  was  turned 
to  wise  uses,  and  there  were  new  sources  of  gladness  to 
set  over  against  the  sorrow.     Voices  of  children  cheered  his 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

home  ;  Dorothy  was  born  in  1804,  Thomas  in  1806  ;  and 
the  cottage  growing  narrow  for  his  household,  he  accepted 
for  the  winter  of  1806-1807  the  offer  made  by  his  friend 
Sir  George  Beaumont,  a  landscape  painter  of  some  distinc- 
tion, of  a  farmhouse  at  Coleorton  in  Leicestershire.  Here 
he  was  visited  by  Coleridge,  lately  returned  from  Italy,  and 
his  son  Hartley.  The  old  friendship  was  renewed  under 
sadder  circumstances,  for  Coleridge's  abiding  mood  was  one 
of  dejection  only  veiled  by  transitory  cheerfulness.  He  had 
taken  with  him  to  Malta  five  books  of  "  The  Prelude"  in 
manuscript  ;  and  now  the  remainder  of  that  poem,  which 
belonged  in  a  special  sense  to  him,  was  read  aloud.  His 
homage  to  Wordsworth's  spiritual  power  and  strength  of 
purpose,  and  the  pathetic  sense  of  his  own  infirmities,  were 
poured  forth  on  the  night  of  the  recital  of  "  The  Prelude  " 
in  memorable  verse. 

During  his  residence  at  the  Coleorton  farmhouse,  Words- 
worth composed  the  "  Song  at  the  Feast  of  Brougham 
Castle,"  in  which  the  spirit  of  chivalry  is  expressed,  and 
at  the  same  time  is  controlled  by  the  spirit  of  a  finer  and 
deeper  wisdom.  Here,  too,  he  saw  in  proof  the  last  pages 
of  two  small  but  inestimable  volumes,  the  "  Poems "  of 
1807.^  They  contain  a  series  of  noble  sonnets,  the  poems 
of  the  Scottish  tour,  many  lyrics  of  external  nature,  the 
record  of  fortitude  in  "  Resolution  and  Independence,"  and 
the  Ode  afterwards  named  "  Intimations  of  Immortality  from 
Recollections  of  Early  Childhood."  The  reception  of  these 
volumes  by  the  reviewers  was  far  from  favourable ;  but 
Wordsworth's  "  faith  in  the  whispers  of  the  lonely  Muse  " 
was  not  dependent  on  the  public  journals.  "  Trouble  not 
yourself,"  he  wrote  to  Lady  Beaumont,  "  upon  their  present 
reception  ;  of  what  moment  is  that  compared  with  what  I 
trust   is  their  destiny  ?  —  to   console  the  afflicted  ;  to  add 

'  The  earlier  proofs  were  sent  to  the  printer  from  Grasmere. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxix 

sunshine  to  daylight  by  making  the  happy  happier  ;  to 
teach  the  young  and  the  gracious  of  every  age  to  see,  to 
think  and  feel,  and,  therefore,  to  become  more  actively  and 
securely  virtuous  ;  this  is  their  office,  which  I  trust  they 
will  faithfully  perform,  long  after  we  (that  is,  all  that  is 
mortal  of  us)  are  mouldered  in  our  graves."  The  political 
sonnets  in  the  volume  of  1807  show  how  ardently  Words- 
worth entered  into  the  struggle  maintained  by  England 
against  the  dominance  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  He  looked 
upon  his  native  country  as  now  the  champion  at  once  of 
freedom  and  of  order ;  and  his  reliance  was  not  on  her 
material  strength,  but  on  the  awakened  moral  energy  of  the 
people  and  the  righteousness  of  a  great  cause.  Two  years 
after  the  appearance  of  the  "  Poems,"  he  published  an  elab- 
orate pamphlet  on  "  The  Relations  of  Great  Britain,  Spain, 
and  Portugal,"  criticising,  with  great  severity,  as  dishonour- 
able, and  therefore  in  the  highest  sense  impolitic,  the  Con- 
vention of  Cintra.  He  looked  at  events  not  from  the  point 
of  view  of  a  military  expert,  not  even  from  the  politician's 
point  of  view  ;  but  as  one  who  saw  that  all  present  good 
and  all  hope  for  the  future  resided  in  the  spiritual  virtue  of 
a  nation.  The  people  of  the  peninsula  had  risen  against 
an  intolerable  tyranny  ;  no  temporary  advantage  in  warfare, 
even  supposing  such  an  advantage  were  gained,  could  com- 
pensate the  evil  caused  by  an  arrangement  which  thwarted 
or  checked  the  noblest  passions  of  an  outraged  race.  No 
political  prose  so  ardent  and  so  weighty  with  solemn  thought 
had  been  written  since  the  days  of  Burke  ;  but  events  had 
moved  rapidly  ;  when  Wordsworth's  pamphlet  appeared  the 
Convention  was  an  accomplished  fact  of  the  past.  His  pas- 
sionate meditation  fell  upon  unheeding  ears,  yet  it  remains 
as  a  lofty  interpretation  of  moral  truths  which  exist  inde- 
pendently of  the  occasion  that  called  it  forth.  Another 
remarkable  piece  of  Wordsworth's  prose  belongs  in  its  ear- 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

liest  form  to  the  year  1810  —  his  "  Guide  to  the  Lakes," 
originally  prefixed  to  a  volume  of  "  Views "  drawn  by  the 
Rev.  J,  Wilkinson.  In  it  the  poet  exhibits  his  mind  work- 
ing in  an  analytic  way  ;  he  appears  as  a  profound  and 
searching  student  of  the  characteristics  of  landscape  ;  he 
handles  with  complete  intellectual  mastery  the  matter 
which'  in  his  verse  is  rendered  for  the  emotions  and  the 
imagination. 

After  a  visit  to  London  in  the  spring  of  1807,  Words- 
worth returned,  in  company  with  Scott,  to  Coleorton.  Later 
in  the  year  he  saw,  for  the  first  time,  the  beautiful  country 
that  surrounds  Bolton  Priory  in  Yorkshire,  and  gathered 
from  its  history  and  tradition  material  for  "  The  White  Doe 
of  Rylstone,"  half  of  which  was  composed  at  Stockton-on- 
Tees,  in  November  and  December.  When  he  reentered  his 
Grasmere  cottage  the  poem  was  continued,  but  it  remained 
unpublished  until  18 15.  It  is  less  a  narrative  of  material 
events  and  outward  action  than  of  a  process  of  the  soul  ; 
yet  with  the  purification  through  suffering  of  the  spirit  of 
his  heroine,  Wordsworth  finely  connects  something  of  the 
decaying  feudal  temper  and  manners,  something  also  of 
the  beauty  and  the  pathos  of  external  nature  ;  while  in  the 
doe,  which  is  partly  a  gentle  woodland  creature  and  partly 
a  spirit  of  fidelity  and  love,  he  finds,  as  it  were,  a  visible 
presentment  of  the  sanctity  of  Emily's  moral  being.  The 
poem  is  one  that  grew  from  a  sorrow  chastened  and  sub- 
dued ;  it  tells  of  the  higher  wisdom  which  came  to  Words- 
worth himself  through  the  discipline  of  affliction. 

Dove  Cottage  was  now  hardly  habitable  by  the  Words- 
worth household.  On  returning  from  London,  whither  he 
had  been  drawn  by  alarming  accounts  of  Coleridge's  health, 
Wordsworth,  with  his  family,  moved  in  the  summer  of  1808 
to  Allan  Bank,  a  newly  built  house,  situated  upon  a  small 
height  on  the  way  from  Grasmere  to  Easedale  ;  and  during 


INTR  on  UC  TION. 


XXXI 


the  winter  and  for  upwards  of  a  year  that  followed,  Coleridge, 
then  engaged  upon  his  periodical  "  The  Friend,"  was  their 
guest.  For  some  time  De  Quincey  was  also  received  as  a 
memberof  the  household.  A  second  daughter — Catherine  — 
was  added  to  Wordsworth's  family,  and  in  May,  1810,  a  son 
—  William  — ;•  his  last-born  child.  Not  many  of  his  shorter 
poems  belong  to  the  period  of  residence  at  Allan  Bank ; 
he  was  for  a  time  occupied  with  his  Convention  of  Cintra 
pamphlet,  and  for  a  time  with  his  essay  on  the  district  of  the 
Lakes ;  but  he  also  worked  much  upon  "  The  Excursion.'^ 
When  it  was  published  in  18 14  the  public,  then  and  during 
subsequent  years  engaged  with  Byron's  poems  and  the 
Waverley  novels,  cared  little  for  it.  "  The  Excursion  "  in- 
deed made  a  large  demand  upon  the  reader's  thought  and 
sympathy  ;  it  embodied  a  philosophy  of  life,  which  could 
interpret  itself  to  the  public  only  by  degrees  ;  it  spoke 
of  things  which  could  be  but  slowly  realized.  Five  hundred 
copies  sufficed  for  the  sales  of  six  years  ;  but  Wordsworth 
bore  neglect  with  equanimity.  "  I  shall  continue  to  write," 
he  says  to  Southey,  "  with,  I  trust,  the  light  of  Heaven 
upon  me." 

Allan  Bank,  with  smoky  chimneys  and  damp  walls,  did 
not  prove  a  very  comfortable  place  of  residence  ;  the  pro- 
prietor required  it  for  his  own  use  ;  and  in  the  spring  of  181 1 
Wordsworth  took  up  a  temporary  abode  at  the  parsonage 
close  to  the  church  at  Grasmere.  It  became  next  year  a 
home  of  sorrow.  On  June  4,  18 12,  little  Catherine,  a  child 
of  most  engaging  disposition,  died  after  a  short  illness ;  on 
December  i,  Thomas,  the  best-beloved  of  the  household,  was 
lost.  The  father  and  mother  could  not  endure  to  remain 
where  every  object  oppressed  their  hearts  with  mournful 
remembrance  ;  they  felt  it  dutiful  to  seek  the  means  of  re- 
covering tranquility.  About  two  miles  distant  from  Gras- 
mere a  beautifully  situated  dwelling-place —  Rydal  Mount — ■ 


xxxii  INrRODUCTION. 

was  about  to  become  vacant  ;  and  in  the  spring  of  1813 
Wordsworth  entered  into  possession  of  that  house  in  which 
his  remaining  years  were  spent. 

He  had  been  fortunate  in  obtaining  the  post  of  distribu- 
tor of  stamps  in  the  county  of  Westmoreland  ;  the  salary  was 
;i^40o  a  year  and  the  duties  were  not  oppressive  ;  his  means, 
though  not  large,  were  yet  sufficient.  It  was  decided  that 
John,  the  elder  of  his  two  surviving  sons,  should  receive  an 
University  education  ;  and  while  instructing  the  boy,  Words- 
worth revived  his  own  interest  in  classical  literature.  His 
"' Laodamia"  and  "Dion"  are  among  the  fruits  of  these 
studies  in  the  classics;  they  have  a  dignity  of  expression,  a 
poise  of  feeling,  which  contrast  with  some  of  his  earlier  poems. 
In  18 1 4  Wordsworth  again  saw  Scotland,  was  guided  by 
Hogg,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  to  Yarrow,  and  recorded  in 
song  his  visit  to  that  romantic  stream.  Yarrow  was  re- 
visited many  years  later,  in  183 1,  but  the  occasion  had  much 
of  sadness,  for  at  that  moment  Scott,  broken  in  strength  and 
spirits,  was  about  to  leave  his  home,  seeking  in  vain  for 
health  in  Italy.  The  year  181 5  is  memorable  chiefly  as  that 
in  which  Wordsworth  first  collected  his  poetical  works,  and 
rearranged  certain  of  them  in  groups  corresponding  to  the 
faculty  with  which  the  grouped  pieces  are  most  clearly  con- 
nected,—  Poems  of  the  Imagination,  Poems  of  the  Fancy, 
Poems  of  Sentiment  and  Reflection.  A  preface  set  forth 
Wordsworth's  views  respecting  the  powers  requisite  for  the 
production  of  poetry,  its  various  kinds,  and  the  distinction 
between  fancy  and  imagination  ;  the  earlier  preface  to 
"  Lyrical  Ballads  "  was  reprinted  as  an  appendix.  The  poetry 
written  in  the  year  which  followed  the  appearance  of  these 
volumes  was  chiefly  suggested  by  political  events.  With  the 
battle  of  Waterloo  a  great  period  of  national  struggle  had 
closed  ;  what  the  poet  had  prayed  for  and  hoped  was  now 
accomplished  ;  and  he  poured  forth  his  gratitude  and  joy  in 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXIU 

the  "  Thanksgiving  Ode "  and  other  kindred  pieces  which 
were  published  in  1816.  That  England  should  keep  what 
now  had  been  won  seemed  to  Wordsworth  more  important 
than  to  seek  for  new  things  ;  his  temper  naturally  grew  more 
conservative  ;  the  danger  from  a  foreign  tyranny  was  at  an 
end,  but  he  feared  internal  dangers  from  a  rash  spirit  of  re- 
form ;  he  regarded  the  feudal  power  still  surviving  in  England 
as  a  needful  counterpoise  to  the  popular  power,  already,  as 
he  believed,  far  in  excess  of  the  degree  of  knowledge  and  the 
standard  of  morals  attained  by  the  masses.  In  18 18  Words- 
worth opposed  with  energy  the  candidature  of  Brougham  for 
the  representation  in  Parliament  of  the  county  of  Westmore- 
land, and  published  two  "Addresses  to  the  Freeholders," 
in  which  he  pleaded  against  overweening  reformers  as  "  the 
vanguard  of  a  ferocious  revolution."  Little  verse  was  writ- 
ten in  that  year ;  but  to  it  belongs  one  poem  of  high  spiritual 
import,  that  "'  Composed  upon  an  Evening  of  Extraordinary 
Splendour  and  Beauty."  His  interest  in  earlier  unpublished 
work,  if  it  had  declined,  now  revived;  "Peter  Bell,"  written 
long  before,  in  the  Alfoxden  days,  and  "  The  Waggoner,"  a 
poem  of  1805,  were  published  separately  in  1819;  they  were 
ridiculed, — and  "  Peter  Bell,"  admirable  as  are  many  pas- 
sages, lent  itself  to  ridicule,  —  but  they  were  read,  and  when, 
in  1820,  a  new  edition  of  Wordsworth's  miscellaneous  poems 
was  called  for,  these  were  included  as  a  part  of  the  collec- 
tion. In  the  same  year  appeared  the  beautiful  sequence  of 
sonnets  in  which  is  traced  the  course  of  the  river  Duddon. 

It  was  long  since  Wordsworth  had  travelled  on  the  con- 
tinent. In  the  autumn  of  1820,  accompanied  by  his  wife 
and  sister  and  a  few  friends,  he  journeyed  by  the  Rhine  to 
Switzerland  and  the  Italian  lakes,  returning  by  Paris.  Jour- 
nals kept  by  Mrs.  Wordsworth,  by  Dorothy  Wordsworth,  and 
by  Crabb  Robinson,  who  joined  the  tourists  at  Lucerne, 
record  the  course  and  incidents  of  travel.     A  series  of  verse 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

memorials  of  the  tour  was  published  by  Wordsworth  two 
years  later.  After  a  visit  to  his  brother  at  Cambridge  and 
to  Sir  George  Beaumont  at  Coleorton,  he  was  again  at  Rydal 
Mount  by  the  close  of  1820.  He  had  assisted  Sir  George 
Beaumont  to  choose  the  site  of  a  church  about  to  be  erected, 
and  not  long  afterwards  he  sent  his  friend  certain  sonnets  in 
remembrance  of  the  occasion.  The  question  of  Catholic 
emancipation,  now  occupying  the  attention  of  Parliament, 
kept  his  thoughts  directed  to  matters  connected  with  the 
Church,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  certain  points  in  the 
religious  history  of  the  country  might  be  advantageously 
presented  to  view  in  verse.  Hence  originated  the  '"  Eccle- 
siastical Sonnets,"  published  with  the  title  "  Ecclesiastical 
Sketches"  in  1822,  and  as  he  proceeded  the  first  design 
expanded  in  his  hands  beyond  the  bounds  of  England.  In 
later  reprints  additions  were  made,  nor  did  the  series  reach 
its  final  completion  until  1845.  ^^  early  life  Wordsworth 
had  found  spiritual  promptings,  guidance,  and  support  chiefly, 
in  his  own  soul  and  in  the  influence  of  external  nature ;  with 
advancing  years  he  came  to  value  highly  the  organization  of 
religion,  the  communities  of  worship,  the  worth  of  authority 
and  tradition,  the  infusion  of  a  spirit  of  piety  through  rites 
and  ceremonies.  He  had  not  lost  the  gains  of  his  youth, 
but  he  added  to  them  others  which  came  with  a  closer  in- 
corporation in  the  society  of  his  fellows. 

There  is  little  of  external  incident  to  record  in  Words- 
worth's elder  years.  The  happy  monotony  of  life  at  Rydal 
Mount  was  varied  by  occasional  moods  of  creative  impulse, 
and  by  more  frequent  wanderings  from  home  in  summer  or 
autumn.  In  1823  he  travelled  with  his  wife  in  Belgium  and 
Holland  ;  the  next  year  their  holiday  was  in  Wales.  When 
Sir  George  Beaumont  died,  in  1827,  an  annuity  of  ;^ioo  was 
left  by  him  to  be  spent  by  Wordsworth  in  a  yearly  tour.  In 
1828  Coleridge  was  his  companion  on  an  excursion  to  Bel- 


JNTR  on  UC  TION.  XXXV 

gium  and  the  Rhine  ;  a  year  later  he  visited  Ireland  ;  was 
again  in  Scotland  in  1831  and  in  1833;  and  in  1837,  when 
approaching  the  age  of  seventy,  he  saw  for  the  first  time 
Rome  and  Florence.  Many  of  his  later  verses  are  con- 
nected with  these  summer  wanderings.  Only  two  new  vol- 
umes of  poetry  appeared  after  the  publications  of  1822  ;  one 
of  these  was  "  Yarrow  Revisited  and  Other  Poems  "  (1835)  ; 
the  other,  "  Poems,  Chiefly  of  Early  and  Late  Years  "  (1842), 
in  which  was  included  the  tragedy  of  "  The  Borderers."  But 
as  successive  editions  of  his  collected  writings  appeared,  he 
added  now  and  again  to  their  contents  ;  and  he  occupied 
himself  much  in  the  revisal  of  previous  work. 

Many  alterations  were  effected  in  the  texts  of  1827  and 
of  1832.  For  the  stereotyped  edition  of  1836-1837  a  thorough 
revisal  was  undertaken,  which,  though  the  improvements  are 
many,  was  certainly  carried  too  far  ;  in  1840  and  in  1845 
further  improvements  were  introduced,  but  in  not  a  few  in- 
stances he  wisely  restored  the  earlier  readings.  When  in 
March,  1843,  Southey  died,  Wordsworth  became  his  suc- 
cessor to  the  laureateship  ;  in  1S44  Sir  Robert  Peel  placed 
his  name  on  the  civil  list,  with  a  pension  of  ^300  a  year. 
He  had  received  from  Oxford  in  1839  the  honorary  degree 
of  D.C.L.,  and  when  Keble,  as  Professor  of  Poetry,  pre- 
sented him  to  the  Vice-Chancellor,  the  Sheldonian  Theatre 
rang  with  applause. 

Two  matters  of  public  interest  called  him  into  activity  in 
these  declining  years  ;  he  took  strong  views  as  to  the  rights  of 
authors  with  respect  to  copyright ;  and  he  was  a  vigorous 
opponent  in  1844-1845  of  the  proposed  Kendal  and  Winder- 
mere Railway.  He  did  not  undervalue  the  benefits  to  be 
expected  from  railways  in  their  legitimate  application  ;  but 
the  particular  scheme  in  question  seemed  to  him  inappropri- 
ate and  ill  judged  ;  "the  staple,"  as  he  expressed  it,  of  the 
Lake  district  "  is  its  beautv  and  its  character  of  seclusion 


XXX  vi  INTKODUCTIOA'. 

and  retirement";  and  he  held  that  the  gains  likely  to  result 
from  the  contemplated  intrusion  would  not  compensate  the 
sacrifice. 

Wordsworth  at  length  had  attained  to  honor  and  to  wide- 
spread influence.  But  one  who  reaches  his  years  must 
needs  endure  sorrow.  His  sister  had  for  long  been  an  in- 
valid, weakened  in  intellect.  His  sister-in-law,  Sarah  Hutch- 
inson, to  whom  he  was  much  attached,  died  in  1836.  Scott, 
Coleridge,  Lamb,  Crabbe,  Hogg,  Felicia  Hemans,  had  all 
passed  away.  In  1847  his  beloved  daughter  Dora,  who  had 
become  the  wife  of  Edward  Quillinan,  died,  and  Wordsworth, 
at  the  age  of  seventy-seven,  had  not  strength  to  recover  from 
the  blow  ;  all  that  he  could  attain  was  resignation  underly- 
ing the  passion  of  grief.  But  his  time  of  sorrow  was  not 
long  drawn  out.  On  Sunday,  March  10,  1850,  he  received 
a  chill,  which  resulted  in  pleuritic  inflammation.  During 
his  illness  his  thoughts  were  often  with  his  lost  Dora.  At 
noon  on  April  23  he  peacefully  breathed  his  last.  West- 
minster Abbey,  though  his  marble  figure  is  seated  there,  is 
not  his  resting-place.  His  body  lies,  with  the  bodies  of 
those  dearest  to  him,  in  Grasmere  church-yard,  below  the 
hills  that  his  feet  had  so  often  trodden,  and  among  the  rural 
folk  whose  joys  and  sorrows  he  had  interpreted  to  the 
world. 

Several  portraits  of  Wordsworth  exist  ;  that  by  Haydon, 
the  subject  of  a  fine  sonnet  by  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning, 
best  renders  the  strength  and  brooding  passion  of  his  coun- 
tenance. The  forehead  was  ample  ;  the  eyes  not  large,  but 
capable  of  deep  spiritual  illumination ;  the  nose  slightly 
arched ;  the  mouth  expressive  of  force  ;  the  cheeks  fur- 
rowed. In  figure  Wordsworth  was  tall,  and  neither  slight 
nor  massive.  His  over-fervid  temperament  caused  him  at 
an  early  age  to  look  older  than  he  actually  was.  A  por- 
trait by  Pickersgill,  which  the  poet  himself  approved,  hangs 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxvii 

in  the  hall  of  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge  ;  but  its  expres- 
sion of  weak  amiability  is  the  reverse  of  characteristic.  A 
bust  by  Chautrey's  pupil,  Angus  Fletcher,  is  faithful  in  out- 
line and  has  caught  the  meaning  of  his  face. 

In  social  converse  he  was  grave,  but  animated,  ready  to 
receive  and  ready  to  communicate.  He  took  a  deep  and 
kindly  interest  in  the  concerns  of  his  humbler  neighbors. 
On  his  visits  to  London  during  his  later  years  he  entered 
freely  into  society,  and  could  be  genial  in  the  company  of 
younger  men,  even  when  their  opinions  on  moral  and  social 
questions  differed  widely  from  his  own.  He  read  what 
pleased  him  and  what  he  considered  best,  but  he  had  not 
the  wide-ranging  passion  for  books  of  a  literary  student. 


II.     CHARACTERISTICS  OF  WORDSWORTH'S  GENIUS. 

With  many  men  of  genius  high  powers  conflict  one  with 
another,  or  operate  singly  and  fail  in  mutual  help.  Nothing 
is  more  characteristic  of  Wordsworth  than  the  harmony  ex- 
isting between  the  several  faculties  of  his  nature  ;  his  various 
powers  not  only  act  in  unison,  they  seem,  as  it  were,  to  in- 
terpenetrate one  another,  each  living  and  moving  in  its  fel- 
low. Byron's  genius  impresses  us  as  a  magnificent  but 
warring  chaos  ;  his  nobler  impulses  were  met  and  baffled  by 
his  baser  passions  ;  and  the  cynicism  of  "  Don  Juan  "  is  the 
result.  With  Keats,  sensation  sometimes  tyrannizes  over 
reflection.  In  Coleridge  the  will  failed  to  sustain  imagina- 
tion and  thought,  and  so  his  works  became  fragmentary. 
There  -Cvas  a  practical  side  to  Shelley's  mind,  but  he  reserved 
it  for  his  prose  ;  in  verse,  if  not  a  visionary,  he  is  almost  a 
pure  idealist.  It  is  seldom  indeed  that  complete  intellectual 
and  moral  conciliation  is  effected  in  any  one  of  us.     The 


xxxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

spirit  wars  against  the  senses,  and  the  senses  against  the 
spirit  ;  the  intellect  distrusts  the  imagination,  and  the  imagi- 
nation shrinks  back  from  the  intellect  ;  the  real  and  the  ideal 
seem  to  be  opposed  or  to  stand  wide  apart  ;  now  the  out- 
ward gains  upon  us,  and  again  we  take  refuge  in  the  citadel 
of  the  soul ;  passion  and  conscience  are  at  odds  ;  excite- 
ments mar  our  tranquillity  or  some  dulness  hangs  weights  of 
lead  upon  our  nobler  excitements  ;  our  desire  for  freedom 
rebels  against  obedience  to  law,  or  we  give  ourselves  up  to 
the  ease  and  bondage  of  customs,  conventions,  unrealized 
creeds ;  we  observe,  accumulate,  analyse,  and  lose  the  uni- 
fying and  vivifying  power  of  the  mind  ;  our  manhood  scorns 
or  laments  our  youth,  our  old  age  wearies  of  the  interests  of 
our  manhood.  In  Wordsworth's  nature  and  in  Wordsworth's 
work  a  harmony  is  effected  between  faculties  and  moods, 
which  with  most  men  are  rivals  for  possession  of  supreme 
or  exclusive  power.  The  special  character  of  what  he 
achieved  is  happily  defined  by  Mr.  Aubrey  de  Vere,  as  con- 
sisting "  First,  in  the  unusually  large  number  of  qualities, 
often  not  only  remote  from  each  other,  but  apparently  op- 
posed to  each  other,  which  are  represented  by  his  higher 
poetry  ;  secondly,  in  the  absolute  unity  in  which  these  va- 
rious qualities  are  blended  ;  and  thirdly,  in  the  masterful 
moral  strength  which  results  from  their  united  expres- 
sion. ...  In  his  best  poetry  the  diverse  elements  of  the 
human  intellect  and  of  the  human  heart  are  found,  not  only 
in  greater  variety,  but  in  a  closer  and  more  spiritual  union 
than  in  any  other  poetry  of  his  time." 

Two  of  his  senses,  and  those  the  senses  most  needful  for 
a  poet's  uses  —  eye  and  ear  —  were  susceptible  of  the  finest 
impressions  ;  a  third  sense,  from  which  poetry  derives  some 
contributions,  as  readers  of  Herrick  and  of  Keats  must  be 
well  aware,  —  that  of  smell,  —  was  with  Wordsworth  abso- 
lutely lacking.     Noticing  when  a  boy  of  fourteen  the  strongly 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxix 

accentuated  outlines  of  the  branches  and  leaves  of  an  oak 
which  stood  out  against  the  evening  sky,  it  struck  him  that  an 
infinite  variety  of  natural  appearances  remained  still  unre- 
corded in  poetry,  and  he  resolved  to  supply  in  some  degree 
the  deficiency.  His  feeling  for  colour  and  his  feeling  for  form 
were  alike  fine  and  strong.  The  tones  of  his  colouring  are 
not  exaggerated  ;  they  are  those  of  nature.  Take,  for  example, 
his  description  of  the  four  yew  trees  of  Borrowdale  : 

a  pillared  shade 
Upon  whose  grassless  floor  of  red-brown  hue, 
By  sheddings  from  the  pining  umbrage  tinged 
Perennially  —  beneath  whose  sable  roof 
Of  boughs,  as  if  for  festal  purpose  decked 
With  unrejoicing  berries  —  ghostly  Shapes 
May  meet  at  noontide. 

The  solemn  phantasy  in  this  poem  is  supported  by  the  most 

exact  observation.     Wordsworth's  report  of  phenomena  has 

a  fidelity  which  gives  it  some  of  the  unfathomable  suggest 

iveness  of  nature.     The  following  from   "  A  Night  Piece," 

describing  the  sudden  apparition  of  the  moon,  from  amid 

sundered  clouds,  may  serve  as  one  other  example  out  of  a 

thousand :  tt    i     i  ,      ,     j  i- 

He  looks  up,  —  the  clouds  are  split 

Asunder,  —  and  above  his  head  he  sees 

The  clear  Moon,  and  the  glory  of  the  heavens. 

There,  in  a  black-blue  vault  she  sails  along, 

Followed  by  multitudes  of  stars,  that,  small, 

And  sharp,  and  bright,  along  the  dark  abyss. 

Drive  as  she  drives.     How  fast  they  wheel  away, 

Yet  vanish  not  !     The  wind  is  in  the  trees 

But  they  are  silent  ;  still  they  roll  along. 

Immeasurably  distant ;  and  the  vault, 

Built  round  by  those  white  clouds,  enormous  clouds. 

Still  deepens  its  unfathomable  depth. 

Wordsworth's  ear  was  sensitive  in  the  highest  degree  to 
all  the  wandering  voices  and  homeless  sounds  of  nature  ;  but, 


xl  INTRODUCTION. 

while  the  processes  of  his  mind  had  the  logic  of  music,  his 
appreciation  of  music  as  an  art  was  slight,  and  he  never 
applied  himself,  as  Browning  did,  to  its  study.  The  song 
of  the  solitary  reaper  in  its  simplicity  and  suggestiveness  is 
almost  like  the  voice  of  the  nightingale  or  the  cuckoo.  It 
is  such  words  as  . 


or 


The  stationary  blasts  of  waterfalls, 

Winds  thwarting  winds,  bewildered  and  forlorn, 
or 

Then  sometimes  in  that  silence,  while  he  hung. 
Listening,  a  gentle  shock  of  mild  surprise 
Has  carried  far  into  his  heart  the  voice 
Of  mountain  torrents, 

that  are  most  characteristic  of  Wordsworth  as  a  student  of 
sound. 

But  while  his  observations  with  eye  and  ear  were  close 
and  exact,  he  was  seldom  a  mere  observer.  He  spoke  some- 
what slightingly  of  Scott's  method  of  noting  down  the  ob- 
jects upon  which  his  eye  rested,  and  so  securing  in  his  de- 
scriptions a  literal  fidelity  to  fact.  Wordsworth's  special 
gift  was  rather  to  interpret  than  to  describe.  He  gazed  or 
listened  in  a  "  wise  passiveness,"'  contemplating,  brooding, 
until  the  soul  in  things  seemed  to  be  drawn  forth  to  meet 
his  own  spirit  and  to  confer  with  it.  There  was  a  time,  as 
he  tells  us,  when  the  mere  eye  tyrannized  over  the  other 
powers,  when  the  sense  of  sight  became  an  irresistible  appe- 
tite ;  but  it  was  a  time  of  moral  disturbance  and  dissonance, 
when  his  faculties  were  dislocated  and  refused  to  work  to- 
gether. The  state  of  feeling  which  was  normal  with  Words- 
worth is  expressed  in  the  opening  lines  of  his  ode  on  "  The 
Power  of  Sound  "  • 

Thy  functions  are  ethereal, 

As  if  within  thee  dwelt  a  glancing  mind, 

Organ  of  vision  !     And  a  Spirit  aerial 


INTKODUCTIOIV.  xli 

Informs  the  cell  of  Hearing,  dark  and  blind  ; 
Intricate  labyrinth,  more  dread  for  thought 
To  enter  than  oracular  cave. 

The  spirit  with  him  lives  in  the  sense  ;  through  eye  and 
ear  he  comes  into  communion  with  the  inmost  Ufe  of 
things,  and  that  H£e  is  felt  as  a  spiritual  activity.  Ac- 
cordingly, though  there  is  a  high  austerity  in  Wordsworth's 
poetry,  no  writings  tend  less  than  his  to  asceticism,  in 
the  narrower  meaning  of  that  word.  He  cannot  suspect 
his  senses,  for  his  senses  are  the  inlets  for  influences  of 
the  soul. 

Wordsworth's  strength  of  intellect  was  as  remarkable  as 
the  fineness  of  his  senses.  A  large  body  of  original  thought 
could  be  brought  together  from  his  writings.  It  is  not  of 
every  eminent  poet  that  this  can  be  said.  Byron's  power  of 
reflection  was  not  extraordinary.  Shelley  accepted  en  bloc 
from  Godwin  the  body  of  intellectual  doctrine  which  lies 
behind  his  poetry,  doctrine  vivified  by  his  ardent  feeling, 
and  over  which  he  threw  the  coloured  web  of  his  imaginings. 
But  if  we  could  conceive  of  Wordsworth  as  other  than  a  great 
poet,  we  might  still  honour  him  as  an  original  thinker.  His 
mind  did  not  indeed  ordinarily  proceed  in  the  way  of  analysis 
and  ratiocination  (though  of  these  he  was  capable)  ;  and  he 
is  at  times  somewhat  less  than  just  to  scientific  thinkers  who, 
as  he  puts  it,  "  murder  to  dissect."  He  was  less  interested 
in  truth  as  a  series  of  propositions  than  in  truth  as  a  vital 
power ;  truth  impregnated  with  feeling,  and  expressing  itself 
in  spiritual  energy.  '^He  viewed  nature,  the  individual  man, 
and  human  society,  not  as  consisting  of  a  series  of  mechani- 
cal arrangements,  but  each  as  a  living  unity.  And  in  the 
discovery  of  truth  he  brought  to  the  aid  of  the  analytic  un- 
derstanding on  the  one  hand  imagination,  and  on  the  other 
a  faith  which,  as  he  conceived,  could  justify  itself  to  the 
reason. 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

To  suppose  that  Wordsworth's  was  a  mild,  gentle,  tran- 
quil nature,  moved  by  no  deep  and  strong  passions,  is  a 
vulgar  error.  He  felt  ardently  and  profoundly.  But  "mere 
passion  did  not  dominate  him  and  carry  him  away.  His 
emotions  were  illuminated  by  thought  and  were  brought 
into  harmony  with  conscience  ;  they  did  not  whirl  him  out 
of  his  course,  but  bore  him  onward  with  a  continuous  im- 
pulse in  his  true  orbit.  No  poet  attains  to  clearer  altitudes 
of  illuminated  joy  than  Wordsworth,  and,  because  he  is 
borne  thither  by  no  unworthy  desire,  he  finds  repose  upon 
the  heights  ;  yet  at  the  heart  of  his  calm  there  is  a  quick- 
ening passion.  Few  poets  have  more  truly  represented  an 
arid  anguish  of  the  heart  ;  but  as  his  genius  and  moral 
nature  matured  he  chose  rather  to  exhibit  sorrow  in  its 
strengthening  and  purifying  power.  He  has  not  often  ren- 
dered into  verse  the  passion  of  lovers  ;  but  the  group  of 
poems  connected  with  "  Lucy"  give  expression  to  profound 
and  tender  feeling;  and  Wordsworth  himself  declared  that 
he  deliberately  turned  away  from  this  common  theme  of 
poets  because  he  feared,  so  deeply  did  it  move  him,  that  he 
could  not  keep  the  treatment  within  due  bounds.  The 
dramatic  power  which  enables  a  poet  to  enter,  as  Shake- 
speare did,  into  a  world  of  what  we  may  call  a.bnormal  or 
perverted  passions,  ^ — hatred,  revenge,  jealousy,  pride,  the 
lust  of  power,  the  rage  for  pleasure,  —  Wordsworth  did  not 
possess.  But  he  could  interpret  unerringly  and  in  all  their 
fulness  some  of  the  strongest  emotions  belonging  to  the 
best  parts  of  our  humanity  :  the  parental  passion,  as  in 
"  Michael,"  and  "  The  Affliction  of  Margaret "  ;  fra- 
ternal affection,  as  in  "  The  Brothers  "  ;  wedded  love,  as  in 
the  verses  beginning  "  O  dearer  far  than  life  and  light  are 
dear";  the  loyalty  of  friendship,  as  in  the  sonnet,  "The  Pine 
of  Monte  Mario";  the  ardour  of  religion,  as  in  the  sonnets 
suggested    by   King's    College,    Cambridge.      And    in    the 


INTRODUCTION.  xliii 

breadth  and  energy  of  his  political  feeling,  as  the  "  Poems 
Dedicated  to  National  Independence  and  Liberty "  amply 
prove,  he  may  be  placed  by  the  side  of  Milton.  It  is, 
indeed,  Wordsworth's  strength  in  his  total  being  which 
masks  the  power  of  passion  in  him.  If  his  capacity  for 
reflection  had  been  less,  if  his  conscience  had  not  been  ever 
in  command,  if  his  will  had  not  been  so  steadfast,  and  if 
all  of  these  had  not  been  brought  into  harmonious  and  con- 
sentaneous operation,  the  force  of  the  impulses  that  moved 
his  heart  would  be  more  immediately  felt. 

Wordsworth  distinguished  between  the  Fancy  and  the 
Imagination  —  the  one  a  faculty  chiefly  occupied  in  aggre- 
gating and  associating,  the  other  in  modifying  and  creating. 
The  inferior  faculty  he  possessed,  but  in  no  extraordinary 
degree  ;  his  highest  self  appears  in  work  of  the  imagina- 
tion. With  some  poets  the  imagination  deserts  reality  ; 
they  create  an  ideal  world  from  slight  hints  and  sugges- 
tions of  the  actual  world  which  sufhce  to  quicken  into 
activity  their  genius  for  invention.  Wordsworth's  imagina- 
tion rather  discovers  the  ideal  within  the  real.  It  modifies 
the  appearance  of  things  so  as  to  bring  out  more  ade- 
quately their  inward  life  and  being.  It  illuminates  the 
world  with  !'  a  light  that  never  was,  on  sea  or  land  "  ;  but 
this  light  is  a  truth  of  the  human  spirit,  which  reveals,  as 
nothing  else  can,  the  meaning  of  the  phenomena  around  us. 
It  creates  a  region  of  beauty,  wonder,  joy  for  those  who  can 
enter  there  ;  but  this  is  not  a  region  of  illusion  ;  on  enter- 
ing it,  we  only  come  into  possession  of  our  rightful  heritage. 
For  him  no  opposition  can  exist  between  imagination  and 
reason  ;  they  operate  together  in  the  search  for  the  truth  of 
things.  A  poet  whose  genius  is  simply  lyrical  sings  upon 
the  impulse  of  the  moment.  '  The  actual  occasion  of  many 
of  Wordsworth's  poems  was  separated  by  a  considerable 
interval  of  time  from  the  hour  of  creation,      ^^1"lat  had  been 


xli  V  INTK  on  UC  TION. 

begotten  of  joy  was  afterwards  brought  forth  by  meditation. 
He  recollected  emotion  in  tranquillity,  and  revived  it  in  a 
purer  form.  The  dross  of  circumstances  had  been  refined, 
and  thought  had  nourished  feeling  before  the  poet's  work 
came  to  the  light.  The  ideal  had  gradually  evolved  itself 
from  reality?:^ 

Memory  and  hope  are  fellow-workers  in  Wordsworth's 
poetry.  At  the  basis  of  what  he  has  written  lay  the  cheer- 
ful faith,  the  optimism,  of  his  age,  but  modified  by  individual 
reflection.  He  looked  forward,  though  in  no  violent  revo- 
lutionary spirit,  to  a  great  destiny  for  mankind  ;  he  viewed 
the  world  as  a  high-school  for  the  education  of  the  individual 
mind  ;  much  of  his  poetry  is  occupied  with  the  subject  of 
the  loss  and  the  recovery  of  faith,  hope,  imaginative  power, 
wisdom,  joy ;  he  believed,  moreover,  in  the  immortality  of 
the  human  soul.  But  some  whose  temper  is  optimistic 
think  scornfully  of  the  past,  and  some  aspirants  towards  a 
higher  future  life  belittle  the  present.  Wordsworth  did 
neither.  He  reverenced  the  past  ;  he  had  a  sense  of  the 
continuity  of  human  existence,  both  social  and  individual. 
He  regarded  the  days  of  his  own  life,  with  all  the  modifica- 
tions which  sorrow  and  experience  and  deepening  reflection 
brought,  as  "  bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety."  And, 
in  like  manner,  he  felt  that  the  life  of  a  nation  is  a  growing 
unity  ;  that  the  old  order  is  not  to  be  lightly  cast  aside  ; 
that  tradition  and  prescription  are  a  precious  heritage  ;  that 
new  institutions  must  grow  out  of  those  received  from  our 
fathers.  The  man  of  genius  whose  gaze  is  wholly  turned 
to  the  future  runs  the  risk  of  advocating  freedom  at  the 
expense  of  order ;  he  who  lives  wholly  in  the  past  may  for- 
get the  expanding  life  of  society,  and  become  the  champion 
of  a  traditional  order  which  is  incompatible  with  the  growth 
of  freedom.  Examples  of  both  dangers  may  be  found  in 
some    of  Wordsworth's    contemporaries.     Among  them  he 


lA'-rKODUCTIOA-.  xlv 

appears  as  a  reconciler.  He  knows  the  worth  of  freedom 
both  for  the  individual  life  and  for  nations  ;  but  he  finds 
the  truest  freedom  in  willing  obedience  to  the  highest  law. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  Wordsworth,  like  the  poets  who 
can  project  themselves  out  of  themselves  in  epic  and  dra- 
matic work,  is  a  poet  for  all  readers.  What  is  characteristic 
of  him  is  the  synthesis  between  external  things  and  his  own 
mind  and  his  own  mood.  He  draws  things  towards  him- 
self and  meets  them  half  way  ;  what  he  writes  is  never 
purely  objective.  And  hence  he  selects  his  audience  ;  to 
enter  into  his  work  we  must  have  something  of  the  Words- 
worthian  mind  and  temper.  We  could  hardly  say  of  any 
one  whom  Shakespeare  or  Homer  left  untouched  that  he 
had  a  true  feeling  for  poetry.  But  many  genuine  lovers  of 
the  poetry  of  Shakespeare  and  Homer  are  unmoved  by  that 
of  Wordsworth  ;  they  cannot  remain  at  the  Wordsworthian 
standpoint,  or  they  cannot  advance  towards  things  along 
the  line  by  which  he  advances,  and  fail  to  reach  that  mid- 
way resting-place  where  the  Wordsworthian  synthesis  is 
effected.  They  speak  of  him  as  an  egoist ;  and  if  it  be 
egoism  never  wholly  to  escape  from  one's  own  personality 
and  one's  own  peculiar  manner  of  regarding  objects,  they 
are  right. 

In  disinterested  intellectual  curiosity  Wordsworth  was 
deficient.  He  could  not  yield  himself  to  what  did  not 
somehow  bear  upon  his  moral  nature.  He  was  not  a  dis- 
cursive reader  ;  he  was  not  deeply  interested  in  the  study 
of  minds  of  a  type  wholly  different  from  his  own.  Within 
a  certain  range  he  was  a  great  critic,  but  as  a  critic  he  was 
profound  rather  than  broad.  He  had  little  care  for  the 
scientific  movement  of  his  time  ;  he  was  repelled  by  Goethe  ; 
he  undervalued  Byron  ;  he  loved  and  honored  Scott  per- 
sonally, but  it  may  be  questioned  whether  he  ever  felt 
aright  Scott's  power  as  an  interpreter  of  human  life.     The 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION. 

limitation  of  Wordsworth's  intellectual  interests  was  to  a 
certain  extent  a  source  of  strength  ;  it  saved  him  from 
many  distractions  ;  but  one  who  is  an  exclusive  disciple  of 
Wordsworth  incurs  some  risk  of  narrowness.  It  is  wise  at 
times  to  descend  from  the  mountain-height,  to  quit  the 
pastoral  valley,  and  to  fare  forth  into  the  world  and  wave 
of  men. 

He  was  deficient  in  one  of  the  most  liberalising  gifts  of 
mind  —  a  sense  of  humour.  At  rare  times  in  his  poetry,  as 
in  some  passages  of  "  Peter  Bell  "  and  some  passages  of 
"  The  Idiot  Boy,"  Wordsworth  shows  an  inclination  for 
frolic  ;  it  is  the  frolic  of  good  spirits  in  one  habitually 
grave,  and  he  cannot  caper  lightly  and  gracefully.  His 
writings  in  all  their  extent  hardly  show  more  of  humour  than 
this.  He  did  not  observe,  or  did  not  think  fit  to  record, 
the  details  of  the  social  comedy  so  freely  provided  for  our 
entertainment ;  and  having  attained  to  his  own  solution  of 
the  problems  of  our  existence,  he  had  no  feeling  for  those 
ironies  and  incongruities  of  human  life  which  give  rise  to 
the  finest  kind  of  humour,  those  which  are  presented,  for 
instance,  so  genially  and  so  pathetically  by  Cervantes.  He 
reverenced  our  nature,  and  could  have  no  sympathy  with 
such  cruel  and  bitter  laughter  as  that  of  Swift.  At  one 
time  he  attempted  translations  from  Juvenal  ;  but  the 
laughter  of  indignation  against  vice  and  folly  was  not 
Wordsworth's  mode  of  expressing  ethical  feeling.  He 
teaches  us  many  things  ;  but  he  does  not  teach  us  how  to 
laugh  wisely  and  kindly.  We  cannot  find  a  place  for  Fal- 
staff  in  the  scenes  of  "  The  Excursion "  ;  and  a  world 
which  excludes  Falstaff  is  not  the  whole  wide  world  ;  but 
we  have  excellent  companions  in  the  Pastor,  the  Solitary 
and  the  philosophic  Pedlar ;  they  teach  us  to  think  and  to 
love  ;  and  thought  and  love  should  help  us  to  laugh.  If 
Wordsworth's    seriousness    of    moral    temper    needs    to   be 


INTRODUCTION.  xlvil 

relieved,  we  find  such  a  relief  in  his  poetry  through  his 
delight  in  beauty.  He  speaks  in  one  of  his  sonnets  of  "  the 
mighty  ravishment  of  spring,"  and  some  of  that  vernal 
rapture  lives  in  his  own  verse. 


III.     WORDSWORTH  IN  RELATION  TO  HIS  AGE. 

Wordsworth's  originality  as  a  poet  does  not  consist  in 
detachment  from  his  age  ;  his  poetry  embodies  some  of  the 
leading  tendencies  of  his  time,  but  in  passing  through  his 
mind  these  were  purified  and  ennobled.  The  years  of  his 
early  manhood  were  those  of  the  great  Revolutionary  up- 
heaval in  France,  and  Wordsworth  was  for  a  time  an  ardent 
partisan  on  the  side  of  the  Revolution.  What  remained  to 
him  of  that  early  faith  after  the  historical  development  of 
the  movement  in  France  had  alienated  his  sympathies?  The 
answer  to  this  question  has  been  so  well  given  by  Dr  Ed- 
ward Caird  that  little  need  be  added  to  his  statement.  Of 
the  so-called  "  return  to  nature  "  in  the  second  half  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  a  new  feeling  for  the  wilder  and  grander 
aspects  of  natural  beauty  in  the  visible  world  was  a  part. 
Rousseau,  a  prophet  of  the  Revolution,  had  given  eloquent 
utterance  to  this  feeling.  Wordsworth,  endowed  as  he  was 
with  the  finest  sensibility  of  eye  and  ear  and  possessing  a 
poet's  imagination,  was  peculiarly  well  fitted  to  express  this 
sentiment.  He  dealt  with  it  not  in  a  vague  historical  way, 
but  with  all  the  advantages  derived  from  exact  observation, 
and  a  close,  imaginative  study  of  the  facts  of  the  external 
world.  And  because  his  temper  was  one  of  sanity,  he  did 
not,  in  the  manner  of  some  other  writers  inspired  by  the 
Revolution,  set  up  —  at  least  in  his  maturer  work  —  any 
opposition    between  nature    and    human   society.     Half   of 


xlviii  INTRODUCTION. 

Byron's  feeling  for  external  nature  lies  in  his  recoil,  some 
times  rather  rhetorical  than  real,  from  man  and  the  condi- 
tions of  humanity.  Wordsworth,  on  the  contrary,  sees  man 
in  connection  with  external  nature,  and  interprets  in  his 
poetry  their  spiritual  interaction  and  cooperation. 
(  A  second  note  of  the  Revolutionary  epoch  is  expressed  by 
the  word  "  simplification."  This  also  had  its  exponent  in 
Rousseau,  while  in  English  literature  it  found  a  voice  through 
Cowper,  Day  (the  author  of  "  Sandford  and  Merton  ")  and 
other  writers.  It  was  a  "  return  to  nature  "  from  luxury, 
convention,  ceremonial,  the  artificial  life  of  courts  and  cities. 
"God  made  the  country,"  said  Cowper,  "and  man  made  the 
town."  The  life  of  the  peasant  was  supposed  to  be  more 
favorable  for  the  true  development  of  manhood  than  the  life 
of  the  courtier.  The  Revolution  did  homage  to  man  as  man, 
and  professed  to  strip  off  and  despise  the  accidental  trap- 
pings of  our  humanity.  Dangers,  however,  accompanied 
this  cry  for  "  simplification  "  —  the  danger  of  sentimentality, 
the  danger  of  extravagance,  the  danger  of  one-sided  bitter- 
ness. Each  of  these  is  abundantly  illustrated  by  the  liter- 
ature of  the  time.  Wordsworth  began,  not  with  declama- 
tions against  luxury,  but  by  simplifying  his  own  life  with  a 
view  to  accomplishing  his  proper  work ;  "  plain  living  and 
high  thinking  "  became  his  rule  ;  and  therefore  he  could  not 
be  a  sentimentalist.  His  strong  good  sense  preserved  him 
from  such  extravagances  and  crude  experiments  as  make  cer- 
tain passages  in  the  life  of  Thomas  Day  read  like  scenes 
from  a  comedy.  He  did  not  plead  for  a  recovery  of  bar- 
barism ;  simple  as  was  his  manner  of  living  in  Dove  Cottage, 
he  and  his  sister  enjoyed  the  cultured  delights  of  the  mind  ; 
Spenser  and  Ariosto,  Dante  and  Shakespeare  were  their  com- 
panions ;  they  desired  to  build  up,  not  to  pull  down  ;  and  so 
they  were  free  from  bitterness.  When  Wordsworth's  early 
faith  in  the  French  Revolution  was  lost,  he  did  not  lose  his 


INTRODUCTIOX.  xlix 

sense  of  the  dignity  of  plain  manhood  ;  rather  he  reahzed 
this  more  fully,  as  it  passed  from  the  form  of  an  abstract 
doctrine  to  that  of  a  concrete  experience.  He  could  discern 
all  that  makes  our  human  nature  venerable  in  a  leech  gath- 
erer or  a  pedlar  ;  but  neither  of  these  appears  in  his  verse 
as  an  indignant  champion  of  the  rights  of  man.  "  Humble 
and  rustic  life,"  he  tells  us,  "  was  generally  chosen  "  for  the 
matter  of  his  poetry,  "  because  in  that  condition  the  essen- 
tial passions  of  the  heart  find  a  better  soil  in  which  they  can 
attain  their  maturity,  are  under  less  restraint,  and  speak  a 
plainer  and  more  emphatic  language  ;  because  in  that  con- 
dition of  life  our  elementary  feelings  exist  in  a  state  of 
greater  simplicity,  and  consequently  may  be  more  accurately 
contemplated  and  more  forcibly  communicated ;  because  the 
manners  of  rural  life  germinate  from  those  elementary  feel- 
ings, and,  from  the  necessary  character  of  rural  occupations, 
are  more  easily  comprehended,  and  are  more  durable  ;  and, 
lastly,  because  in  that  condition  the  passions  of  men  are 
incorporated  with  the  beautiful  and  permanent  forms  of 
nature." 

(  Wordsworth's  deep  sense  of  the  worth  of  native  manhood 
carries  with  it,  almost  of  necessity,  a  faith  and  hope  in  the 
future  destiny  of  man.  But  the  over-sanguine  optimism  of 
the  Revolutionary  period,  which  looked  forward  to  a  terrestrial 
Paradise,  to  be  attained  as  soon  as  the  last  throne  should 
be  cast  down  and  the  last  church  demolished,  was  not 
Wordsworth's  creed,  or  was  not  his  creed  for  long.  He  did 
not  expect,  or  he  soon  ceased  to  expect,  that  the  millenium 
was  about  to  arrive  as  the  result  of  any  new  political  form  or 
political  combination  ;  but  a  conviction  grew  upon  him  that 
the  whple  frame  of  things  is  essentially  good,  and  that  there 
is  a  power  in  nature  to  breathe  grandeur,  even  if  not  hap- 
piness, as  he  says,  "upon  the  very  humblest  face  of  human 
life."  /  It  was  not  that  he  shut  his  eyes  to  the  evil  or  sorrow 


I  INTRO  DUCriOA'. 

of  the  world  ;  he  saw  these,  and  looked  at  them  unfiinchingly  ; 
but  he  seemed  also  to  see  through  and  beyond  them,  and  to 
discover  light  as  the  cause  of  the  shadow  ;  and  as  he  ad- 
vanced in  years  his  philosophic  faith  was  strengthened  by  a 
faith  distinctively  Christian,  "  He  can  stand  in  the  shadow 
of  death  and  pain,  ruin  and  failure,  with  a  sympathy  that  is 
almost  painful  in  its  quiet  intensity  ;  yet  the  sense  of  '  some- 
thing far  more  deeply  interfused '  which  makes  '  our  noisy 
years  seem  moments  in  the  being  of  the  eternal  silence  '  ; 
the  faith  in  the  omnipotence  '  of  love  and  man's  unconquer- 
able mind  '  is  never  destroyed  or  even  weakened  in  him. 
The  contemplation  of  evil  and  pain  always  ends  with  him, 
by  an  inevitable  recoil,  in  an  inspired  expression  of  his  faith 
in  the  good  which  transmutes  and  transfigures  it,  as  clouds 
are  changed  into  manifestations  of  the  sunlight  they  strive 
to  hide.'"  (And  such  convictions  as  these,  while  they  nec- 
essarily tended  to  check  extravagant  hopes  of  any  sudden 
advent  of  an  age  of  gold,  did  not  lessen  his  interest  in 
whatever  he  believed  might  really  tend  to  ameliorate  the 
condition  of  society,  influences  for  good  with  which  he 
trusted  that  his  own  work  as  a  poet  might  in  its  degree 
cooperate.  ) 

The  war  of  England  against  the  French  Republic  for  a 
time  caused  a  painful  division  in  Woodsworth's  feelings,  and 
checked  his  sympathies  with  his  native  land.  The  defence 
of  European  liberty  against  the  Napoleonic  tyranny  con- 
verted him  into  an  English  patriot.  \  The  struggle  in  Spain, 
which  seemed  to  Wordsworth  to  be  the  uprising  of  a  wronged 
and  indignant  people  against  their  oppressors,  not  a  war  of 
monarchs  or  of  dynasties,  aroused  his  most  passionate  inter- 
est ;  his  thoughts  and  feelings  can  be  read  in  the  political 
sonnets  and  in  the  pamphlet  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra. 
The  true  strength  of  a  nation,  as  he  believed,  resides  not  in 

1  E.  Caird. 


IXTRODUCriON.  li 

material  resources,  not  in  mechanical  arrangements,  not 
in  the  power  of  armies,  not  in  natural  advantages  of  fron- 
tier or  mountain  and  flood,  but  in  its  moral  temper,  in  the 
soulj  And  when  at  length  Napoleon  w'as  overthrown, 
Wordsworth  looked  upon  the  victory  not  primarily  as  a 
military  achievement,  bnt  as  the  triumph  of  moral  forces. 

The  English  people,  he  thought,  had  been  tried  and  had 
stood  the  test.  English  institutions  had  undergone  a  pro- 
longed strain,  and  they  had  borne  it  well.  His  attachment 
to  the  constitution,  to  the  church,  to  all  that  is  inherited  and 
traditional,  had  grown  strong,  and  he  had  come  to  regard 
with  distrust  some  of  those  tendencies  of  his  own  day  that 
made  for  change.  Living  among  a  peasantry  who,  com- 
pared with  the  shifting  population  of  great  cities,  might 
be  named  aristocratic,  and  whose  best  feelings  were  bound 
up  with  permanent  objects  and  interests,  he  feared  the  in- 
road of  new  forces  which  might  disturb  and  confuse  their 
hearts  and  lives.  He  rejoiced  in  the  advance  of  modern 
science  in  so  far  as  science  served  the  cause  of  order  in 
things  intellectual  ;  in  so  far  as  it  furnished  guidance  and 
support  to  the  power  of  the  mind  when  faring  forth  on  its 
explorations  ;  in  so  far  as  the  knowledge  which  it  attained 
could  be  made  subservient  to  moral  or  spiritual  purposes. 
He  distrusted  science  when  it  chained  the  spirit  of  man  to 
merely  material  things,  when  it  converted  a  human  being 
into  a  mere  lens  for  microscopic  observation,  when  it  resulted 
in  mere  accumulation  of  external  details,  or  when  its  con- 
jectures and  hypotheses  seemed  to  give  the  lie  to  truths  of 
the  conscience  and  the  heart.  Great  mechanical  and  indus- 
trial progress  was  a  feature  of  the  time.  Wordsworth  could 
exult  in  every  proof  of  intellectual  mastery  exercised  over 
the  blind  elements,  in  the  imparting  of  something  almost 
like  a  soul  to  brute  matter,  in  the  growing  dominion  of  man 
over  the  powers  of  nature.      But  he  feared  that  man  might 


lii  IaVTKODUCTIO.X. 

be  dazzled,  not  strengthened,  by  this  newly  acquired  sov- 
ereignty ;  that  man  might  come  to  trust  more  in  material 
resources  than  in  moral  power  ;  that  mechanical  progress 
might  be  pursued  in  a  degree  out  of  proportion  to  the  real 
needs  of  society  ;  that  the  rage  for  wealth  might  convert 
wealth  into  the  source  of  a  new  slavery  ;  that  arts  and  in- 
ventions might  forget  human  virtue;  that  the  old  domestic 
morals  of  the  land  and  its  simple  manners  might  suffer  an 
irreparable  loss.  Our  century  has  shown  that  there  were 
grounds  for  both  his  hopes  and  his  fears. 

The  advocates  of  great  political  changes  in  England  during 
the  earlier  years  of  the  century  were  in  the  main  spokesmen 
of  the  mechanical  and  industrial  movement.  A  middle- 
class  plutocracy  did  not  excite  Wordsworth's  highest  admi- 
ration. He  loved  the  people  ;  he  entered  into  their  private 
joys  and  sorrows  ;  but  he  did  not  believe  that  either  they  or 
the  lower  middle  class  were  qualified  for  political  power,  nor 
did  he  think  that  the  possession  of  political  power  would 
add  to  the  worth  and  happiness  of  their  lives.  And  so  he 
strenuously  opposed  the  Reform  Bill  of  1832.  He  looked  upon 
the  Church  as  a  great  national  institution  for  the  spiritual 
education  and  spiritual  sustenance  of  the  people.  He  be- 
lieved that  the  extension  of  the  franchise  to  Roman  Catholics 
would  inevitably  lead  to  the  disestablishment  of  the  Church, 
first  in  Ireland,  afterwards  in  England.  And  therefore  he 
resisted  Catholic  Emancipation.  He  did  so,  not  in  a  spirit 
of  intolerant  bigotry,  but,  as  he  held,  in  the  interests  of 
the  people,  and  in  accordance  with  the  logic  of  the  English 
constitution.  At  a  later  time  he  was  guilty  of  what  to  some 
persons  will  appear  even  a  more  flagrant  act  of  hostility  to 
the  modern  spirit  :  he  set  himself  against  the  introduction  of 
railways  into  the  district  of  the  English  Lakes.  But  Words- 
worth was  not  a  belated  prophet  hurling  anathemas  against 
the  steam-engine.     Weighing  the  mischief  against  the  prom- 


INTRODUCTION.  liii 

ised  gains,  he  concluded  that  the  particular  project  of  the 
Kendal  and  Windermere  Railway  would,  if  carried  out,  dam- 
age one  of  the  most  precious  possessions  of  beauty  still  re- 
maining to  the  British  people,  and  he  refused  to  be  deluded 
by  what  he  terms  a  false  utilitarian  lure. 

The  mechanical  and  materialistic  tendencies  of  the  time 
were  to  some  extent  met  and  held  in  check,  at  least  with 
minds  of  a  certain  type,  by  what  has  been  called  the  tran- 
scendental movement  in  thought,  and  at  a  subsequent  date 
by  the  movement  in  the  Church  of  England  which  had  Ox- 
ford for  its  centre.  With  both  of  these  Wordsworth  was  in 
sympathy  —  with  the  transcendental  movement  in  his  youth, 
with  the  High  Church  movement  in  his  more  advanced 
years.  The  former  was  in  part  a  recoil  from  the  turbid 
atheism,  the  abstract  deism,  and  the  dry  orthodoxy  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  An  emotional  fervour  had  been  infused 
into  religion  and  philosophy  ;  God  and  nature  and  man 
seemed  to  draw  near  and  to  confer  one  with  the  other.  In 
his  highest  imaginative  moments  Wordsworth  became  aware 
of  a  Presence  in  external  nature  and  in  the  mind  of  man 
which  he  could  not  call  other  than  divine  : 

A  motion  and  a  spirit  that  impels 

All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 

And  rolls  through  all  things. 

The  forms  and  motions  of  external  things,  tumult  and  peace, 
the  darkness  and  the  light,  were  for  him  "  characters  of  the 
great  Apocalypse."  In  the  law  of  conscience  he  recognized 
"  God's  most  intimate  presence  in  the  soul."  When  with 
growing  years  he  became  better  acquainted  with  suffering, 
trial,  and  human  infirmity,  he  came  to  value  more  than  he 
did  at  first  all  those  aids  to  the  spiritual  in  man  which  are 
afforded  by  institutions,  customs,  ceremonies,  places,  rites, 
ordinances,  about  which  our  best  feelings  have  gathered  and 


liv  INTRODUCTIOX. 

which  are  associated  wilh  our  most  sacred  experiences.  He 
found  higher  uses  than  he  had  formerly  conceived  in  what 
is  historical,  in  what  is  traditional.  And  if  the  Divine  Spirit 
communicates  with  man  through  symbols  in  external  nature, 
why  also  should  not  God  speak  to  man  through  the  symbols 
of  the  Church  ?  In  both  phases  of  thought  and  feeling- 
there  is  this  in  common  —  a  sense  that  the  soul  can  never 
rest  satisfied  with  material  things  ;  that  it  is  sought  by  God, 
and  must  seek  after  God  if  haply  it  may  find  Him.  But  at 
no  time  would  Wordsworth  have  given  his  approval  to  a 
religion  of  mechanical  pomp,  to  a  system  of  spurious  sym- 
bolism, or  to  gross  rites,  which,  as  he  says,  "trample  upon 
soul  and  sense."  His  sympathy  with  the  Oxford  movement 
went  as  far  as  what  we  may  call  a  transposed  transcenden- 
talism can  go ;  but  it  went  no  farther.  To  the  structure  of 
Wordsworth's  faith  buttresses,  and  arches,  pillar  and  tra- 
ceried  window  were  added  ;  the  basis  remained  as  it  had 
been  from  the  first. 

We  have  considered  Wordsworth  in  relation  to  the  politi- 
cal, the  philosophical,  and  religious  movements  of  his  time  ; 
it  remains  to  say  a  word  of  his  relation  to  tendencies 
of  a  purely  literary  kind.  Before  "  Lyrical  Ballads "  ap- 
peared, the  reaction  from  the  school  of  Pope  and  the  poets 
of  Queen  Anne's  reign  was  already  in  full  operation.  The 
new  romance  and  the  new  sentiment  had  appeared  in  prose 
and  verse.  Walpole's  "  Castle  of  Otranto  "  had  stimulated 
the  imagination  of  the  public  with  its  crude  revival  of  mediae- 
valism,  its  gross  horrors,  mysteries,  and  marvels.  Mrs.  Rad- 
cliffe  and  Matthew  Gregory  Lewis  followed,  working  in  a 
somewhat  similar  manner  upon  a  larger  canvas.  Percy's 
'"  Reliques,"  Chatterton's  "  Rowley  Poems,"  Macpherson's 
"  Ossian  "  aided  in  what  has  been  termed  the  "  renaissance 
of  wonder  "  in  English  poetry.  On  the  other  hand,  a  realism, 
somewhat  hard  and   dry,   was   powerfully  exhibited   in   the 


intkoducttoa:  Iv 

poems  of  Crabbe.  Wordsworth  could  not  and  would  not 
desert  reality  for  romance  ;  before  all  else  he  would  be  true 
to  nature  and  to  human  life.  But  his  genius  did  not  lead 
him  to  a  literal  transcription  of  details  ;  he  could  not  pre- 
sent facts  in  Crabbe's  manner.  What  if  reality  could  be 
shown  in  the  light  of  the  ideal,  a  light  which  reveals  those 
truths  that  ennoble  reality  ?  Would  not  this  also  effect 
something  in  the  "  renaissance  of  wonder,"  and  in  a  better 
way  than  could  be  effected  by  the  extravagances  of  romance? 
This  was  what  Wordsworth  attempted,  and  what  he  achieved. 
He  was  a  great  naturalist  in  literature,  but  he  was  also  a 
great  idealist ;  and  between  the  naturalist  and  the  idealist  in 
Wordsworth  no  opposition  existed ;  each  worked  with  the 
other,  each  served  the  other.  While  Scott,  by  allying  ro- 
mance with  reality,  saved  romantic  fiction  from  the  extrava- 
gances and  follies  into  which  it  had  fallen,  Wordsworth's 
special  work  was  to  open  a  higher  way  for  naturalism  in  art 
by  its  union  with  ideal  truth. 

For  such  poetry  a  plain  style  was  more  appropriate  than 
an  ornate  style.  Wordsworth's  theory  of  a  poetic  diction 
arose  partly  from  the  demands  of  his  subjects,  partly  from 
his  instinctive  tendencies  as  an  artist  ;  it  was  partly  the 
result  of  a  reaction  from  the  artificial  language,  the  gaudi- 
ness  and  inane  phraseology  of  many  eighteenth  century 
writers;  and  it  had  also  a  certain  connection  with  his  demo- 
cratic convictions  and  democratic  feeling.  He  did  not  al- 
lege that  poetry  was  written  as  men  ordinarily  speak,  or  that 
prose  and  poetry  are  identical.  It  was  obvious  that  rhyme 
and  metrical  arrangement  constituted  an  essential  distinc- 
tion of  poetry.  What  Wordsworth  maintained  was  that  if  to 
this  distinction  were  added  a  second, — that  the  language 
employed  by  the  poet  should  be  a  selected  and  purified 
diction  derived  from  that  really  used  by  men,  and  especially 
by  men  irua  state  of  vivid  emotion,  —  the  style  of  the  poet  was 


Ivi  INTRODUCTION. 

sufficiently  distinguished.  He  desired  freedom  in  expres- 
sion ;  he  desired  that  language  should  vary  with  the  theme, 
should  rise  and  fall  with  the  emotion  expressed  ;  and  he 
saw  that  an  artificial  poetic  diction,  common  to  all  the  poets 
of  a  period  and  applied  alike  to  every  subject,  is  fatal  to 
poetic  truth  and  freedom.  He  sought  a  language  which 
should  be  rather  the  body  than  the  robe  of  thought  and 
feeling.  In  his  practice  there  is  no  dignity  of  poetic  lan- 
guage which  he  rejects  when  that  dignity  naturally  arises 
out  of  his  subject  ;  but  he  could  not  endure  the  system  of 
plastering  on  verbal  ornaments  to  suit  a  prevailing  fashion. 
"  I  have,"  he  says,  "  at  all  times  endeavored  to  look  steadily 
at  my  subject";  the  right  word,  he  believed,  would  arise  from 
such  a  faithful  intuition  rather  than  from  reference  to  a  vo- 
cabulary accepted  by  other  poets.  It  is  true  that  in  setting 
forth  his  theory  he  expressed  himself  less  guardedly  than  could 
be  wished,  and  so  laid  himself  open  to  Coleridge's  rejoinder 
in  "Biographia  Literaria."  But,  understood  aright,  Words- 
worth's theory  was  essentially  sound,  and  meant  little  more 
than  this,  —  that  the  entire  language  of  men  is  at  the  service 
of  the  poet,  and  that  his  selection  from  that  language  should 
be  determined  not  by  arbitrary  rule  or  custom,  but  by  the  de- 
mands of  the  subject  and  the  truth  of  the  writer's  vision 
and  feeling.  It  was  indeed  an  assertion  of  freedom  in  conso- 
nance with  the  spirit  of  his  age  ;  it  was  part  of  a  legitimate 
return  to  nature. 


IV.     DEVELOPMENT  OF  WORDSWORTH'S  GENIUS. 

Some  of  the  changes  or  modifications  which  came  to 
Wordsworth's  mind  and  temper  have  been  already  indicated. 
His  earliest  imaginative  interests  were  those  connected  with 
external  nature  :   during  his  second  residence  in  France  an 


INTRODUCTION.  Ivii 

interest  in  man  became  predominant.  Of  his  feeling  for 
nature  in  boyhood  the  special  characteristic  was  the  union 
of  an  ardent  physical  joy  with  occasional  moods  of  spiritual 
awe  or  spiritual  rapture.  His  first  published  poems,  "An 
Evening  Walk"  and  "Descriptive  Sketches,"  written  in  the 
favourite  form  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  rhymed  coup- 
let, and  employing  much  of  the  eighteenth-century  poetic 
diction,  read  like  exercises  or  studies  preparatory  to  his 
maturer  work.  The  observation  of  nature  is  exact,  but  it  is 
laboured;  the  details  of  landscape  are  skilfully  composed, 
but  the  Wordsworthian  interpretation  of  landscape  is  not  in 
any  high  degree  present.  In  the  earlier  poem  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  evening,  sunset,  and  moonrise  in  the  Lake 
country  are  recorded  almost  with  historical  exactitude  ;  each 
noun  has  its  studied  epithet  ;  the  cock,  the  swan,  the  wan- 
dering mother  with  her  desolate  children  are  each  portrayed 
in  a  careful  vignette  ;  but  the  descriptions  are  little  more 
than  descriptions.  If  there  be  natural  magic  in  any  lines, 
it  is  in  those  which  tell  of  the  sound  of  streams  unheard  by 

day  : 

While  in  sweet  cadence,  rising  small  and  still, 
The  far-off  minstrels  of  the  haunted  hill. 
As  the  last  bleating  of  the  fold  expires, 
Tune  in  the  mountain  dells  their  water  lyres. 

But  here,  instead  of  the  Wordsworthian  ideality,  we  have  a 
touch  of  romance.  "  Descriptive  Sketches  "  is  more  ambi- 
tious in  its  design  than  "  An  Evening  Walk  ":  it  paints  scenes 
of  greater  variety  upon  a  larger  canvas  ;  and  with  its  studious 
portrayal  of  Swiss  and  Italian  landscape  there  mingles  some 
of  Wordsworth's  revolutionary  sentiment  and  doctrine.  Now 
and  again  occurs  a  line  or  a  phrase  which  is  more  than  de- 
scriptive. "  The  unwearied  sweep  of  wood,"  "  The  ringing 
woods  of  morn,"  "  Dilated  hang  the  misty  pines,"  "A  mighty 
waste  of  mist  the  valley  fills,   A  solemn  sea,"  —  these  are 


Iviii  INTRODUCTION. 

words  which  do  more  than  depict ;  they  interpret  for  the 
imagination  ;  but  such  words  are  rare.  In  the  wonderful 
Hnes  describing  the  Simplon  Pass,  written  for  "  The  Prelude," 
Wordsworth  recovered  an  expression  from  "  Descriptive 
Sketches  "  —  black  drizzlitig  crags ;  but  observe  how  the 
later  lines  are  vital  with  imaginative  energy,  and  the  earlier 
lines  are  little  more  than  a  record  of  observations  : 

The  immeasurable  height 
Of  woods  decaying  never  to  be  decayed, 
The  stationary  blasts  of  waterfalls, 
And  in  the  narrow  rent,  at  every  turn 
Winds  thwarting  winds  bewildered  and  forlorn, 
The  torrents  shooting  from  the  clear  blue  sky,i 
The  rocks  that  muttered  close  upon  our  ears, 
Black  drizzling  crags  that  spake  by  the  wayside 
As  if  a  voice  were  in  them. 

Here  is  Wordsworth's  mature  manner  ;  the  life  of  the  hu- 
man spirit  interprets  the  life  of  nature.  In  "  Descriptive 
Sketches  "  the  text,  as  it  were,  of  nature  is  studied,  but  the 
meaning  is  caught  only  in  fragments  : 

By  floods,  that,  thundering  from  their  dizzy  height. 
Swell  more  gigantic  on  the  steadfast  sight ; 
Black  drizzling  crags,  that,  beaten  by  the  din. 
Vibrate,  as  if  a  voice  complained  within ; 
Bare  steeps,  where  Desolation  stalks,  afraid, 
Unsteadfast,  by  a  blasted  yew  upstayed. 

Instead  of  effecting  a  complete  fusion  between  the  fact  and 
the  imaginative  feeling,  the  poet  interposed  his  personified 
figure  of  "  Desolation." 

'^  Wordsworth's  first  narrative  poem  of  importance  was 
"Guilt  and  Sorrow"  (1791-1794),  of  which  a  fragment  ap- 
peared in  "  Lyrical  Ballads  "  with  the  title  "  The  Female 
Vagrant."     It  is  inspired  by  that  sentiment  for  the  wrongs 

1  This  line  also  comes  from  "  Descriptive  Sketches." 


INTRODUCTION.  IJx 

suffered  by  the  poor  at  the  hands  of  society  which  was  part 
of  the  Revolutionary  temper.  A  soldier's  widow,  now  deso- 
late and  impoverished,  and  a  sailor,  victim  of  the  press- 
gang,  who  in  his  wild  distress  had  murdered  a  man,  meet  in 
the  ruins  of  the  "  Dead-House  "  on  Salisbury  Plain  ;  the 
sailor  next  morning  chances  to  discover  his  dying  wife,  sur- 
renders himself  to  justice  and  is  executed.  In  its  earlier 
form  the  spirit  of  the  poem  was  more  stern  and  severe  than 
we  find  it  in  "Guilt  and  Sorrow"  as  published  in  1842. 
Here  Wordsworth  studies  the  workings  of  the  human  spirit 
in  pain  with  unfaltering  fidelity,  and  in  the  landscape  of  the 
poem  there  are  a  grandeur  and  a  gloom  which  seem  to  cor- 
respond with  and  to  dignify  the  human  passions.  But  in 
"  Guilt  and  Sorrow  "  there  is  little  of  that  quality,  found  in 
later  tales  of  suffering,  which  entitles  Wordsworth  to  the 
name  of  a  "  son  of  consolation.'^  The  study  of  the  passions 
here  might  almost  be  characterized  as  anatomical ;  indeed, 
it  partakes  too  much  of  spiritual  vivisection.  And  the  same 
remark  is  in  some  degree  applicable  to  the  elaborate  poem 
which  followed, — the  tragedy  of  "The  Borderers."  It  is 
the  custom  with  critics  to  speak  slightingly,  if  not  contemp- 
tuously, of  Wordsworth's  drama  ;  no  serious  student  of  his 
poetry  can  afford  to  neglect  it.  "  The  Borderers  "  should 
be  read  not  as  a  stage  drama,  to  produce  which  Words- 
worth was  disqualified  by  his  imperfect  sympathy  with  action, 
but  as  the  exhibition  in  dramatic  form  of  imaginative  inquest 
into  moral  problems  ;  and  read  thus  it  will  be  found  to  be  a 
work  of  no  slight  significance.  When  his  faith  in  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  French  Revolution  was  strained  and  at  length 
gave  way,  Wordsworth  was  driven  back  to  an  arduous  re- 
search into  the  first  principles  of  morals  ;  this  research 
conducted  by  the  intellect  alone,  with  such  a  mind  as  that 
of  Wordsworth  could  not  attain  to  a  solid  basis  of  belief  ; 
before  assurance  could  be  reached,  all  his  higher  faculties 


Ix  INTRODUCTION. 

must  cooperate,  and  then  by  a  deep  mysterious  process  — 
yet  one  which  could  be  justified  to  reason,  heart,  and  con- 
science—  faith  might  be  recovered,  or  re-created.  In  "  The 
Borderers  "  he  shows  how  a  youth  of  generous  spirit  and 
lofty  aspirations  may  be  perverted  from  the  truth  by  the 
influence  of  one  who  has  blinded  the  moral  instincts  within 
him,  and  applied  a  powerful  understanding  to  the  disinte- 
gration of  the  truths  of  our  spiritual  nature.  The  lure  of 
the  tempter,  Oswald,  is  that  by  the  criticism  of  the  under- 
standing freedom  from  moral  obligation  may  be  attained,  or 
a  new  and  higher  morality  substituted  for  the  old,  and  the 
bounds  of  man's  intellectual  empire  may  be  so  enlarged. 
His  doctrines  have  something  in  common  with  those  of  a 
book  which  influenced  many  young  minds  in  the  Revolution 
days,  as  if  it  were  a  veritable  scientific  gospel,  —  Godwin's 
"  Political  Justice."  'J'he  young  leader  of  Wordsworth's 
borderers,  Marmaduke,  falls  into  the  snare;  is  guilty,  though 
with  no  base  intentions,  of  an  irreparable  crime,  and  dis- 
covering his  error,  devotes  all  his  future  life  to  penitential 
expiation.  This  could  hardly  be  made  the  material  of  an 
acting  play  ;  but  it  was  fit  matter  for  a  searching  moral  ex- 
ploration. "  The  Borderers  "  is  \\'ordsworth's  earliest  study, 
of  large  dimensions,  in  human  nature ;  and  the  first  sus- 
tained work  of  a  great  poet  —  whether  a  failure  or  a  suc- 
cess —  is  always  of  importance  in  the  development  of  his 
genius ;  it  sometimes  serves  as  a  key  to  much  that  follows. 
^  (^  The  poems  which  appeared  in  "  Lyrical  Ballads  "  —  and  to 
these  we  may  add,  as  belonging  to  the  same  period,  "  The 
Story  of  Margaret"  ("The  Excursion,"  Book  i)  and  "  Peter 
Bell  "  —  exhibit  a  remarkable  advance.  Wordsworth  had  re- 
covered faith,  he  had  recovered  joy,  and  his  charity,  less 
connected  with  abstract  principles  of  universal  fraternity  and 
more  with  humble  realities,  had  grown  finer  and  more  deep. 
Still  there  remained  with  him  something  of  the  Revolution- 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixi 

ary  contrast  between  nature,  simple,  beneficent,  glad,  and 
society,  which  so  often  does  wrong  to  the  life  of  the  natural 
man.  In  the  main  the  poems  of  this  date  fall  into  two 
groups,  —  those  which  tell  of  happy  communing  with  nature, 
and  those  which  present  the  passions  of  men  and  women 
who  suffer  through  their  affections.  To  the  first  of  these 
groups  belong  such  pieces  as  "  Lines  Written  in  Early 
Spring,"  "Expostulation  and  Reply,"  "The  Tables  Turned," 
"  Lines  Written  a  few  miles  above  Tintern  Abbey "  ;  to 
the  second  group  belong  "The  Thorn,"  "The  Mad  Mother," 
"The  Complaint  of  a  Forsaken  Indian  Woman,"  "The  Last 
of  the  Flock,"  and  "  The  Tale  of  Margaret."  A  motto  for 
both  groups  might  be  found  in  a  stanza  from  "  Lines  Writ- 
ten in  Early  Spring  "  : 

To  her  fair  works  did  nature  link 

The  human  soul  that  through  me  ran ; 

And  much  it  griev'd  my  heart  to  think 
What  man  has  made  of  man. 

The  poems  of  nature  are  not  poems  of  observation  and 
description  ;  they  are  rather  poems  of  contemplative  passion. 
Wordsworth's  mind  submits  itself  to  the  object,  but,  while 
seeming  to  be  passive,  it  reacts  upon  the  appearances  of 
nature  ;  it  infuses  its  own  mood ;  each  poem  is  the  outcome 
of  a  synthesis  between  the  "fair  works"  of  the  external 
world  and  the  "human  soul."  The  eye,  as  we  are  told,  in 
the  "  Lines  Written  a  few  miles  above  Tintern  Abbey,"  is 
"  made  quiet  by  the  power  of  harmony,"  and  by  virtue  of  the 
"deep  power  of  joy  "  the  spirit  sees  "  into  the  life  of  things." 
The  poems  which  deal  with  the  passions  of  humanity  aim  at 
following  —  as  Wordsworth  himself  expresses  it  —  "  the 
fluxes  and  refluxes  of  the  mind  when  agitated  by  the  great 
and  simple  affections  of  our  nature."  His  own  statement 
of  his  design  is  worth  more  than  the  words  of  critics  :  "  The 


Ixli  INTRODUCTION. 

principal  object  proposed  in  these  poems,"  he  wrote  in  the 
preface  to  the  second  edition  of  "Lyrical  Ballads,"  "  was  to 
choose  incidents  and  situations  from  common  life,  and  to 
relate  or  describe  them,  throughout,  as  far  as  was  possible, 
in  a  selection  of  language  really  used  by  men,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  to  throw  over  them  a  certain  colouring  of  imagi- 
nation, whereby  ordinary  things  should  be  presented  to  the 
mind  in  an  unusual  aspect  ;  and  further,  and  above  all,  to 
make  these  incidents  and  situations  interesting  by  tracing 
in  them  truly,  though  not  ostentatiously,  the  primary  laws  of 
our  nature,  —  chiefly  as  far  as  regards  the  manner  in  which 
we  associate  ideas  in  a  state  of  excitement.  Humble  and 
rustic  life  was  generally  chosen.  .  .  .  The  language,  too, 
of  these  men  has  been  adopted  (purified,  indeed,  from  what 
appears  to  be  its  real  defects,  from  all  lasting  and  rational 
causes  of  dislike  or  disgust),  because  such  men  hourly 
communicate  with  the  best  objects  from  which  the  best 
part  of  language  is  originally  derived  ;  and  because  from 
their  rank  in  society  and  the  sameness  and  narrow  circle 
of  their  intercourse,  being  less  under  the  influence  of  social 
vanity,  they  convey  their  feelings  and  notions  in  simple 
and  unelaborated  expressions."  O  It  matters  comparatively 
little  whether  Wordsworth's  statement  of  a  theory  of  poetical 
diction  can  be  sustained  in  all  its  parts ;  his  practice  was 
an  effort  to  express  the  truth  of  human  passion,  and  even 

1  Since  this  Introduction  was  written,  M.  Legouis'  admirable  study, 
"  La  Jeunesse  de  William  Wordsworth,"  has  appeared.  He  exhibits 
the  recoil  from  Godwin's  teaching  in  several  of  the  poems  of  "  Lyrical 
Ballads";  Godwin's  homage  to  the  reason  is  replaced  by  a  reverence 
for  the  deep  instincts  and  primitive  passions  of  man.  See  his  remarks 
on  ".The  Mad  Mother,"  "The  Idiot  Boy,"  "Simon  Lee,"  "  The  Old 
Cumberland  Beggar."  Of  the  earlier  poem,  "  The  Borderers,"  M. 
Legouis  writes  :  "  It  is  the  work  of  a  Godwinian  who,  having  at  first 
seen  only  the  nobler  aspect  of  the  master's  system,  is  suddenly  conscious 
of  alarm  and  shock  at  its  consequences." 


INTRODUCriOA'.  Ixiii 

his  failures  were  on  the  side  of  truth.  Partly  as  the 
result  of  his  peculiar  genius,  partly  as  the  outcome  of 
what  he  had  acquired  through  the  Revolutionary  senti- 
ment, he  valued  the  primary,  universal,  and  permanent 
passions  of  man  as  man  more  than  those  which  belong 
to  a  special  class  of  society  or  a  particular  epoch  of  human 
history.  (Thus  —  to  follow  his  own  analysis  in  a  passage 
of  the  preface,  afterwards  suppressed  as  too  intellectual 
an  exposition  of  work  which  should  expound  itself  to  the 
feelings  and  imagination  —  he  endeavours  in  the  "  Mad 
Mother  "  and  the  "  Idiot  Boy  "  to  trace  the  maternal  passion 
through  some  of  its  subtle  windings ;  in  the  "  Forsaken 
Indian  "  to  accompany  the  last  struggles  of  a  human  being, 
cleaving  in  solitude  to  life  and  society,  while  death  ap- 
proaches fast ;  in  "  We  are  Seven  "  to  show  the  inability  of 
childhood  to  admit  the  notion  of  death  ;  in  "  The  Brothers  " 
to  exhibit  the  strength  of  moral  attachment  when  early  as- 
sociated with  the  great  and  beautiful  objects  of  nature  ;  in 
"  Simon  Lee  "  to  deepen  and  purify  the  feeling  with  which 
we  contemplate  the  infirmity  of  old  age.  In  all  these  and 
like  poems,  the  action  and  situation  are  subordinate  to  the 
passion  or  sentiment.  The  incident  of  "  Simon  Lee  "  is  no 
tale  except  to  a  sensitive  and  meditative  heart,  and  then 
"Perhaps  a  tale  you'll  make  it."  Poor  Susan  only  hears 
the  song  of  a  caged  thrush  ;  but  the  visions  of  green  pas- 
tures, the  milk-pail,  and  one  dear  cottage  rise  before  her, 
and  for  a  moment  her  heart  is  in  heaven.  Old  Timothy 
does  no  more  than  turn  the  key  in  the  door  of  his  hut,  as  he 
departs  to  the  chase,  but  the  action  is  significant  of  desola- 
tion and  its  silent  grief^  When  some  of  Wordsworth's  con- 
temporaries attempted  to  deal  with  themes  like  these,  they 
fell  into  the  sentimental  vice  of  the  time  ;  or  they  put  forth 
a  Radical  manifesto  ;  or,  from  an  aristocratic  standpoint, 
they  patronized  the  poor.      Wordsworth's  adherence  to  the 


Ixiv  fNTRODUCTIO^V. 

truth  of  things  carried  him  past  sentimentalism  to  the  reali- 
ties of  passion  ;  his  veneration  for  human  nature  saved  him 
aUke  from  the  spirit  of  angry  revolt  and  the  spirit  of  patron- 
age. In  style  some  of  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads  "  suffer  from 
Wordsworth's  aggressive  revolt  against  the  poetical  ideas  of 
the  eighteenth  century  ;  and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  "  The 
Idiot  Bo}^"  a  poem  of  no  high  excellence,  occupies  so  large 
a  part  of  the  volume  of  1798.  ^  "  Peter  Bell"  might  with 
advantage  have  taken  its  place,  for  if  the  tale  of  that  wild 
rover  is  equally  exposed  to  the  ridicule  of  the  critics,  there 
is  much  in  it  which  is  vigorous  in  the  exposition  of  charac- 
ter, and  much  which  renders  with  true  imagination  the  psy- 
chology of  the  passions.  Wordsworth  chooses  for  the  hero 
of  his  poem  a  man  hard  and  wild,  insensible  to  all  the  gentle 
influencings  of  nature  and  of  social  life,  and  he  shows  how, 
through  fear  and  awe  and  the  avenging  "  spirits  of  the  mind," 
such  a  temper  as  Peter's  may  be  smitten  and  subdued,  until 
the  buried  waters  of  human  sympathy  fiow  even  from  the 
rock. 

The  second  volume  of  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  which  appeared 
in  1800,  includes  some  of  the  poems  written  in  Germany 
and  the  earliest  of  the  poems  of  Grasmere.  Neither  the 
literature  nor  the  life  of  Germany  contributed  much  to  Words- 
worth's mind.  If  any  piece  of  his  reminds  us  of  the  ballad 
poetry  of  the  German  revival,  it  is  the  unfinished  fragment 
of  "'  The  Danish  Boy,"  which,  however,  had  no  foreign 
original  and  was  entirely  of  the  writer's  invention.  During 
the  bitter  winter  at  Goslar,  Wordsworth's  spirit  created  its 
own  environment  ;  the  only  Teutonic  acquaintance  celebrated 
by  the  poet  in  song  was  a  forlorn  fly  that  crawled  for  warmth 
on  the  edge  of  his  stove  ;  his  heart  and  his  imagination  re- 
mained at  home.  The  poems  of  this  period  are  significant 
as  proving  Wordsworth's  power  of  detachment  from  his 
actual  surroundings,  and  the  deep  imaginative  passion  with 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixv 

which  he  could  revive  or  create  what  was  invisible  to  the 
bodily  eye.  He  brooded  also  with  a  fervent  introspection  on 
the  history  of  his  own  mind,  on  all  that  had  evoked  the 
power  of  poetry  within  him,  on  the  influences  that  warred 
against  the  poetic  power,  and  on  the  processes  by  which 
healing  and  restoration  returned  to  his  spirit. 

Of  the  early  Grasmere  poems  several  were  designed  to 
form  a  group  of  pastorals.  .  And  the  character  of  Words- 
worth's pastorals  is  that  they  are  at  once  real  and  ideal. 
The  amorous  shepherds  of  an  imaginary  Arcady  had  be- 
wailed the  cruelty  of  Arcadian  shepherdesses,  with  all  the 
graces  of  literary  decoration,  in  countless  songs  and  madri- 
gals of  the  Elizabethan  days.  The  pastorals  of  Pope  were 
not  a  direct  study  of  nature,  but  an  adaptation  of  classical 
ideas  to  eighteenth-century  sentiment  and  modes.  Crabbe, 
who  had  known  the  hardships  and  the  vices  of  rural  life, 
indignant  against  the  pseudo-ideality  of  nymphs  and  swains, 
had  resolved  to  set  down  in  verse  the  literal  facts  : 

No  ;  cast  by  Fortune  on  a  frowning  coast, 
Which  neither  groves  nor  happy  valleys  boast ; 
Where  other  cares  than  those  the  Muse  relates, 
And  other  shepherds  dwell  with  other  mates  ; 
By  such  examples  taught,  I  paint  the  cot, 
As  Truth  will  paint  it,  and  as  Bards  will  not. 

But  truth,  as  Crabbe  conceived  it,  was  not  the  whole  truth  ; 
he  sometimes  failed  to  penetrate  beyond  the  harsh  and  bitter 
rind  of  reality  to  the  sweet  fruit  of  life.  Wordsworth  was 
as  faithful  as  Crabbe  in  his  presentation  of  fact,  and  he  dis- 
covered deeper  truths  of  human  nature.  His  "  Michael  " 
verifies  itself  in  every  line,  and  all  that  is  pathetic,  all  that 
is  sublime  in  the  paternal  passion  of  the  old  shepherd  is 
verified  to  the  imagination  as  effectively  as  are  the  humblest 
details.     The  peasant  folk  of  the  Lake  district  were  indeed 


Ixvi  INTRODUCTION. 

of  a  higher  order  than  the  "  wild  amphibious  race  "  of 
^  Crabbe's  "  Village."  t^"  The  class  of  statesmen,  or  estatesmen, 
so-called  because  owners  of  the  ground  they  occupy,"  — 
writes  one  who  for  long  ministered  to  their  spiritual  needs,  — 
"have  many  of  the  qualities  of  an  aristocracy.  Tall  in 
general  and  of  finely  formed  features,  which  have  a  certain 
hardness  of  expression,  derived  from  constant  conflict  with 
an  ungenial  climate,  they  are  independent  in  their  feelings 
and  bearing  ;  but  this  independence  is  usually  free  from 
rudeness,  and  is  oftener  allied  to  a  proud  and  sensitive  shy- 
ness. Completely  devoid  of  hypocrisy,  they  are  honest  and 
truthful,  save,  it  may  be,  for  a  certain  slackness  in  the  exer- 
cise of  judicial  condemnation,  arising,  in  large  part  at  least, 
from  the  kindness  of  heart  which  makes  them  unwilling  per- 
manently to  depress  a  neighbour's  character  or  fortunes.  .  .  . 
They  are  apt  to  be  keen  and  tenacious  in  regard  to  their 
rights  of  property,  so  that  ^litigation  has  been  with  some 
'statesmen  a  favourite  pastime  ;  but  in  times  of  sickness  or 
trial  they  are  excellent  neighbours,  helping  freely  with  per- 
sonal tendence  as  well  as  with  the  contents  of  their  house- 
hold stores.  They  are  calm  in  judgment,  and  their  affections 
are  slowly  kindled,  but  when  once  kindled,  though  sparing 
of  outward  expression,  they  burn  with  a  steady,  enduring 
warmth  ;  and  when  their  blood  is  up,  they  will,  with  as  un- 
flinching a  spirit  and  as  decisive  energy  as  any  men  in  Eng- 
land, do  yeoman's  service  in  behalf  of  person  or  cause  that 
is  dear  to  them."  ^  It  was  among  such  men  as  these  that 
Wordsworth  found  his  subjects  for  imaginative  study.  How 
he  felt  towards  them  may  be  read  in  the  "  First  Book  of  The 
Recluse,"  written,  perhaps,  in  the  spring  of  1800,  in  which 
he  pours  forth  his  joy  and  gratitude  on  finding  a  settled 
home  in  the  delightful  vale  of  Grasmere  : 

^  Rev.  R.  P.  Graves,  "  Recollections  of  Wordsworth,"  in  "  Lectures 
on  Literature  and  Art." 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixvii 

I     From  crowded  streets  remote, 
Far  from  the  living  and  dead  Wilderness 
Of  the  thronged  world,  Society  is  here 
A  true  community  —  a  genuine  frame 
Of  many  into  one  incorporate.    J 
That  must  be  looked  for  here  ;  paternal  sway, 
One  household,  under  God,  for  high  and  low, 
One  family  and  one  mansion  ;  to  themselves 
Appropriate,  and  divided  from  the  world, 
As  if  it  were  a  cave,  i.  multitude 
Human  and  brute,  possessors  undisturbed 
Of  this  Recess  —  their  legislative  Hall, 
Their  Temple,  and  their  glorious  Dwelling-place. 

The  ardour  and  agitations  of  Wordsworth's  youth  were 
not  lost,  but  were  transformed  and  exalted.  The  voice  of 
Nature  and  that  of  Reason  both  said  to  him  "  Be  mild  and 
cleave  to  gentle  things."  The  aspirings,  the  undaunted 
quest  of  his  earlier  years  survived  ;  there  were  still  victories 
to  be  won,  "  bounds  to  be  leapt,  darkness  to  be  explored  "; 
but  thought,  passion  and  imagination  were  not  divided  from 
one  another,  and  hand  in  hand  they  went  forward  to  their 
high  emprise.^  J 

After  the  publication  of  the  second  volume  of  "  Lyrical 
Ballads  "  came  a  season  of  comparative  rest.  Perhaps  it  is 
not  a  mere  fancy  to  suppose  that  the  quickening  of  Words- 
worth's poetic  fervour  in  1802  was  not  unconnected  with  the 
feelings  which  led  to  his  marriage  in  the  autumn  of  that  year. 
He  was  not  indeed  the  conventional  lover  who  lives  in  rap- 
tures and  despair,  but  he  loved  deeply  and  well.  Except  in 
a  few  instances,  of  which  the  most  remarkable  is  "  Resolution 
and  Independence,"  he  did  not,  during  the  spring  of  1802,  set 
himself  to  deal  with  subjects  in  which  he  perceived  poetical 
promise  ;  he  did  not  move  towards  objective  themes ;  but 

^  For  Wordsworth's  feeling  towards  the  people  among  whom  he 
lived,  see  "The  Prelude,"  Book  VIII. 


Ixviii  INTRODUCTION. 

his  heart  lay  open  to  impulses  of  the  moment  or  the  hour, 
and  poem  followed  poem  with  more  than  common  sponta- 
neity. It  was  not  the  habit  of  his  mind,  as  he  has  said,  to 
make  "  a  present  joy  "  the  matter  of  a  song.  He  was  ac- 
customed to  recollect  and  revive  emotion  in  tranquillity ;  a 
moment  of  exquisite  excitement  dropped  a  seed,  as  it  were, 
into  his  mind,  but  sometimes  months  or  years  passed  before 
the  seed  began  to  germinate.  .In  1802  he  often  wrote  upon 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  often  exhausted  himself  with 
the  ardour  of  composition.  But  even  if  it  be  true  that  in 
this  there  was  something  of  a  lover's  mood,  Wordsworth's 
poems  had  rarely  direct  reference  to  the  new  joy  and  hope 
of  his  life,  and  in  the  work  of  this  creative  year  the  impulses 
that  came  to  him  in  solitude  are  counterpoised  by  impulses 
that  had  their  origin  in  public  events.  In  1802  he  wrote 
his  earliest  and  some  of  his  greatest  political  sonnets.  The 
first  suggestion  was  derived  from  Milton's  sonnets,  and  in 
the  political  poetry  of  England  no  note  so  deep,  so  pure 
and  full,  had  been  heard  since  Milton  sang. 

The  year  1803  is  memorable  as  that  which  gave  its  origin 
to  the  first  series  of  Wordsworth's  Itinerary  Poems.  These 
form  a  considerable  body  of  his  poetical  work,  and  in  read- 
ing some  of  the  later  series,  we  feel  as  if  Wordsworth  did 
not  always  write  under  a  genuine  inspiration  ;  he  sometimes 
applied  his  mind  to  topics  which  might  yield  poetry  ;  he 
sometimes  seems  to  have  been  engaged  in  performing  a 
poet's  duty  towards  the  conspicuous  objects  of  travel.  But 
in  the  "  Memorials  of  the  Scotch  Tour  of  1803  "  almost 
everything  is  a  surprise  of  beauty,  of  passion,  or  of  thought. 
He  sees  a  Highland  girl  beside  her  cabin,  within  hearing  of 
the  waterfall,  and,  while  forfeiting  nothing  of  her  reality,  — 
her  home-bred  sense,  her  maidenly  shyness,  her  human 
kindness,  —  she  becomes  of  a  sudden  the  spirit  of  the  lake 
and  bay.      He  hears  the  greeting  of  a  woman  who  passes 


IXTKODUCTION.  Ixix 

along  the  road  :  "  What,  are  you  stepping  westward  ? ''  and 
the  words  sound,  as  it  were,  oracular,  telling  of  that  bright 
region  towards  which  in  this  season  of  joy  his  soul  advanced 
by  natural  right  in  endless  progress. 

The  spring  and  autumn  of  1804  were  devoted  to  carrying 
forward  that  history  of  a  soul,  "  The  Prelude,"  which,  by 
virtue  of  its  insight  into  the  processes  by  which  genius  is 
developed  and  matured,  stands  unique  among  imaginative 
autobiographies.  Before  it  reached  its  close  Wordsworth 
had  lost  his  brother  John,  and  that  loss  which  occurred  early 
in  1805,  may  be  taken  as  marking  a  real  epoch  in  the  growth 
of  his  mind  and  of  his  work.  The  radiance  of  his  joy  was 
henceforth  tempered  ;  he  felt  more  than  hitherto  the  need 
of  whatever  might  strengthen  and  support  his  heart  ;  there 
is  a  more  distinctively  ethical  vein  in  what  he  wrote  ;  the 
experiences  by  which  he  transformed  his  sorrow  into  gain 
colour  his  verse.  The  "  Ode  to  Duty  "  tells  of  his  desire 
to  bring  all  his  powers  into  willing  subjection  to  a  law 
of  right ;  abandonment. to  the  pure  impulses  of  our  nature 
is  good,  but  the  joy  of  obedience  to  a  great  and  be- 
nignant taskmaster  is  better  and  more  secure.  In  the 
"  Character  of  the  Happy  Warrior  "  he  dwells  upon  those 
moral  powers  which  reinforce  and  ennoble  our  highest  in- 
stincts, which  help  us  to  face  great  moments  of  trial  with 
brightness  like  that  of  a  man  inspired,  and  which  can  con- 
trol, subdue,  transmute  the  worst  calamities  of  life.  In  the 
"  Elegiac  Stanzas,  suggested  by  a  Picture  of  Peele  Castle," 
he  speaks  of  that  deeper  humanizing  of  the  soul  which  comes 
through  sorrow  wisely  borne,  and  he  greets  with  welcome 
the  fortitude  and  patient  cheer  which  render  grief  endurable. 
In  the  ode  "Intimations  of  Immortality,"  while  confessing  the 
loss  of  the  "  celestial  light,"  the  "visionary  gleam"  that  clothed 
all  objects  in  former  days,  he  does  not  yield  to  despondency, 
but  rather  finds  strength  "  in  what  remains  behind  "  : 


Ixx  INTRODUCTION. 

In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring 
Out  of  human  suffering ;  — 
In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death 
In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 

Even  his  love  of  nature  is  purified  and  deepened  by  the 
sense  of  man's  mortality  : 

Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys  and  fears, 

To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

The  great  problem  of  life,  as  Wordsworth  conceived  it,  says 
Mr,  Leslie  Stephen,  is  "  to  secure  a  continuity  between  the 
period  at  which  we  are  guided  by  half-conscious  instincts 
and  that  in  which  a  man  is  able  to  supply  the  place  of 
these  primitive  impulses  by  reasoned  convictions."  Until 
he  had  himself  been  tested  by  harsh  experience,  and  had 
found  that  pain  and  loss  made  no  fatal  breach  in  the  progress 
of  the  soul  towards  good,  Wordsworth's  nature  had  not 
reached  its  full  maturity. 

Such  thoughts  as  these,  which  now  became  ruling  ideas 
with  Wordsworth,  preside  over  his  narrative  poem,  "  The 
White  Doe  of  Rylstone,"  and  his  poem  of  lofty  meditation, 
"The  Excursion."  The  former  of  these  is  a  tragic  story  of 
the  "Rising  of  the  North  "  against  the  government  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  The  father  and  brothers  of  the  Norton  family 
perish  in  the  rash  strife ;  only  the  afflicted  daughter  of  the 
house  survives.  The  poem  tells  of  the  death  of  hope  and 
joy,  but  also  of  their  new  and  purer  birth  : 

Dire  overthrow,  and  yet  how  high 
The  re-ascent  in  sanctity  ! 
From  fair  to  fairer  ;  day  by  day 
A  more  divine  and  loftier  way. 

And  the  Doe,  Emily's  companion  in  joy  and  sorrow,  serves 
as  a  beautiful  symbol  and  embodiment  of  those  sympathies 


INTRO  DUCTIOX.  Ixxi 

"  aloft  ascending  and  descending  deep,"  which  bind  us  to 
the  entire  life  of  nature,  sympathies  which  sorrow  should 
not  break,  but  rather  strengthen.  Wordsworth's  own  words, 
addressed  to  Isabella  Fenwick,  form  the  best  commentary 
on  the  poem  :  "  The  subject  being  taken  from  feudal 
times,  has  led  to  its  being  compared  to  some  of  Walter  Scott's 
poems  that  belong  to  the  same  age  and  state  of  society. 
The  comparison  is  inconsiderate.  Sir  Walter  pursued  the 
customary  and  very  natural  course  of  conducting  an  action, 
presenting  various  turns  of  fortune,  to  some  outstanding 
point  on  which  the  mind  might  rest  as  a  termination  or 
catastrophe.  The  course  I  attempted  to  pursue  is  entirely 
different.  Everything  that  is  attempted  by  the  principal 
personages  in  "  The  White  Doe  "  fails,  so  far  as  its  object 
is  external  and  substantial.  So  far  as  it  is  moral  and  spiri- 
tual it  succeeds.  The  heroine  of  the  poem  knows  that  her 
duty  is  not  to  interfere  with  the  current  of  events,  either  to 
forward  or  delay  them,  but 

To  abide 

The  shock  and  finally  secure 

O'er  pain  and  grief  a  triumph  pure. 

.  .  .  How  insignificant  a  thing  does  personal  prowess  appear 
compared  with  the  fortitude  of  patience  and  heroic  martyr- 
dom." 

"  The  Excursion  "  —  forming  the  second  part  of  the  unfin- 
ished "  Recluse  "  —  sets  forth  more  fully  than  any  other  poem 
of  Wordsworth  his  views  of  Man,  Nature,  and  Society.  If 
we  may  speak  of  any  one  idea  as  presiding  over  the  entire 
work,  it  is  that  of  the  joy  and  duty  of  preserving  the  con- 
tinuity of  our  moral  life,  or,  if  this  be  lost,  of  recovering  what 
may  be  recovered  from  the  ruins,  and  effecting  a  restora- 
tion of  our  inward  being.  The  Wanderer  and  the  Solitary, 
the  two  chief  personages  of  the  poem,  are  a  contrasted  pair. 
Wordsworth's  philosophic  pedlar,  after  a  boyhood  of  ardent 


Ixxii  INTRODUCTION. 

delight  in  nature  and  in  books  and  a  manhood  of  beneficent 
activity,  has  now  reached  the  illuminated  heights  of  old  age  ; 
he  has  seen  much  of  human  life,  and  entered  with  sympathy 
into  the  anxieties  that  wear  and  the  sorrows  that  too  often 
corrode  the  heart  ;  yet  his  happiness  is  still  maintained,  his 
benevolence  is  warm,  his  faith  is  serene  in  its  assurance  ; 
he  still  possesses  love  and  hope  and  joy.  The  Solitary. 
born  in  a  higher  station  but  endowed  with  less  of  wisdom 
and  stability  of  spirit,  has  endured  two  shattering  strokes  of 
fate  —  first,  the  loss  of  his  wife  and  children,  a  private  grief ; 
and  secondly,  the  ruin  of  those  bright  visions  of  social 
reform  which  rose  like  an  exhalation  from  the  political 
upheaval  in  France.  His  fortitude  and  his  faith  have  given 
way  under  the  stress  of  suffering  and  disappointment ;  he 
has  retired  from  the  world  into  a  retreat  among  the  moun- 
tains, a  self-indulgent  but  not  a  happy  privacy ;  and  the 
whole  of  human  life  he  regards  with  a  certain  sceptical  bit- 
terness ;  yet  flashes  of  his  old  vivacity  return  to  him  for 
moments,  and  though  his  view  of  huinan  nature  is  clouded 
with  distrust,  he  has  not  lost  his  natural  kindliness  of  dis- 
position. To  raise  his  downcast  spirit,  to  infuse  faith  and 
hope  and  moral  wisdom  into  his  heart,  is  the  effort  of  the 
Wanderer.  And  to  assist  him  in  this  effort  the  old  man 
engages  the  pastor  of  the  mountain  parish  to  narrate  the 
stories  of  some  of  those  who  lie  at  rest  in  the  church-yard 
graves  • —  pathetic  records  told  in 

words  of  heartfelt  truth, 
Tending  to  patience  when  affliction  strikes; 
To  hope  and  love  ;  to  confident  repose 
In  God;  and  reverence  for  the  dust  of  Man. 

Wordsworth  does  not  profess  that  by  discourse  or  tale  moral 
restoration  can  be  procured  ;  but  he  believed  that  these 
might  quicken  what  was  best  in  a  despondent  spirit,  and 
that  they  might  cobperate    with   other   tendencies  towards 


INTRODUCTIOX.  Ixxiii 

good.  His  Wanderer  has  carried  on  into  the  decline  of  life 
all  that  was  most  precious  in  his  exultant  youth,  and  he  has 
added  the  deeper  sympathy  aud  higher  wisdom  of  maturer 
years.  The  Solitary  may  perhaps  recover  something  of  what 
he  has  lost,  or  attain  to  something  saner  and  more  enduring. 
It  was  Wordsworth's  intention  in  the  third  part  of  "  The 
Recluse "  to  tell  his  readers  more  concerning  this  not 
impossible  renovation  ;  but  the  design  which  he  cherished 
was  never  accomplished. 

The  publication  of  "The  Excursion"  in  1814  may  be 
taken  as  an  important  note  of  time  in  the  progress  of  Words- 
worth's art  ;  after  that  date  he  attempted  no  work  of  great 
dimensions.  About  the  same  time  he  again  felt  the  influ- 
ence of  classical  poetry ;  his  manner  of  expression  became 
more  dignified,  but  he  adopted  no  conventional  system  of 
phraseology,  and  his  style,  uniting  truth  with  something  of 
majesty,  remained  characteristically  his  own.  The  manner 
was  appropriate  to  the  subjects  ;  for  some  time  he  had  ceased 
to  write  on  homely  themes  drawn  from  peasant  life  ;  the  nar- 
ratives of  the  tenants  of  the  church-yard  among  the  mountains 
in  "  The  Excursion  "  dealt  with  matter  which  at  an  earlier 
period  might  have  been  treated  in  the  form  of  lyrical  bal- 
lads. Now  his  imagination  looked  away  from  its  immediate 
surroundings  to  records  of  the  past  :  but  it  was  not  the  play 
and  colour  of  ancient  mythology  that  attracted  him  :  he  was 
rather  drawn  towards  subjects  into  which  ethical  wisdom 
might  be  infused.  "  Laodamia,"  enforces  the  duty  of  lift- 
ing up  the  passions  to  their  highest  level,  above  the  mortal 
fluctuations  of  earthly  sorrow  and  earthly  desire.  "  Dion  " 
sets  forth,  in  an  illustrious  example,  the  truth  that,  even  with 
worthy  ends  in  view,  man  must  not  overleap  the  "  eternal 
bars  "  of  justice  and  law  : 

Him,  only  him,  the  shield  of  Jove  defends 
Whose  means  are  fair  and  spotless  as  his  ends- 


Ixxiv  INTRODUCriON: 

"  Artegal  and  Elidure,"  a  tale  drawn  from  British  legend, 
shows  how  a  brother  is  saved  by  a  brother's  magnanimity, 
how  self-surrendering  love  conquers  and  reclaims  base  dis- 
trust and  converts  a  wild  rebel  into  a  noble  penitent.  To 
call  these  poems  didactic  would  be  a  mistake  ;  the  ethical 
purport  is  taken  up  by  the  imagination  and  the  passion  of 
the  poet ;  they  teach  moral  truth,  but,  as  it  were,  inevitably ; 
and  they  do  not  preach ;  it  is  the  critics  drawing  out  their 
meaning  into  weary  doctrine  who  are  the  preachers. 

In  the  year  1816  Wordsworth's  noble  series  of  political 
poems  reached  a  close,  and  he  was  not  again  inspired  to 
write  on  political  themes  in  a  great  manner.  From  the  first 
these  poems  had  been  of  rare  dignity  of  utterance  ;  under 
the  exaltation  of  final  and  stupendous  victory  the  form 
expands  from  the  sonnet  to  the  ode.  Wordsworth's  enthu- 
siasm is  boundless,  but  it  is  purified,  and  can  find  no  satis- 
faction except  in  gratitude  to  the  Almighty  God  of  battles, 
the  Lord  of  Hosts.  Not  by  force  of  mortal  arms  had  the 
triumph  been  achieved,  but  by  the  might  of  a  righteous 
cause ;  by  the  soul  of  a  nation  ;  and  by  the  divine  wrath 
against  the  tyrant,  the  divine  pity  for  the  oppressed,  which 
breathed  through  the  spirit  of  a  people  who  did  not  shrink 
from  sacrifice  or  death.  The  temper  of  these  poems  is 
higher  than  ethical ;  it  is,  in  the  truest  sense,  religious  ;  there 
is  a  breadth  and  majesty  in  the  versification  which  corre- 
sponds with  the  sublimity  of  the  occasion. 

Before  this  date,  if  we  set  aside  the  poem  on  "'  Intimations 
of  Immortality "  and  the  "  Stanzas  to  Duty,"  Wordsworth 
had  not  made  the  ode  a  chosen  vehicle  for  his  feelings. 
Now,  from  time  to  time,  he  applied  it  to  other  than  political 
themes.  The  "  Vernal  Ode  "  of  1817,  the  "  Ode  to  Lycoris  " 
and  the  "  Pass  of  Kirkstone  "  of  the  same  year,  the  lines  of 
18 18  "  Composed  upon  an  Evening  of  Extraordinary  Splen- 
dour and  Beauty,"  the  "  Ode  on  the  Power  of  Sound  "  of 


IXTRODUCriOX.  Ixxv 

ten  years  later,  the  "Devotional  Incitements"'  of  1832 
belong  in  essence,  if  not  always  exactly  in  form,  to  this  class, 
and  they  may  be  reckoned  among  Wordsworth's  most  admi- 
rable achievements.  A  general  topic,  around  which  high 
thoughts  and  ardent  emotions  may  gather,  is  selected  by  the 
imagination,  and  is  viewed  in  various  aspects,  the  lyrical 
movement  of  the  poem  varying  if  the  point  of  view  be 
changed.  One  example  may  suffice:  the  "Vernal  Ode," 
composed  when  spring  was  leading  forth  her  new  and  lovely 
communities  of  blossoms  and  of  birds,  finds  a  source  of  joy 
and  thanksgiving  in  the  immortality  of  succession  granted 
to  mortal  things,  even  where  immortality  is  denied,  as  far  as 
we  know,  to  the  individual  creature.  The  stars  themselves 
shall  pass  away,  but  shall  we  therefore  sink  in  dejection 
before  the  thought  that  all  fair  things  are  doomed  to 
extinction  .' 

What  if  those  bright  fires 

.Shine  subject  to  decay  ; 

Sons  haply  of  extinguished  sires, 

Themselves  to  lose  their  light,  or  pass  away 

Like  clouds  before  the  wind, 

Be  thanks  poured  out  to  Him  whose  hand  bestows 

Nightly,  on  human  kind 

That  vision  of  endurance  and  repose. 

—  And  though  to  every  draught  of  vital  breath, 

Renewed  throughout  the  bounds  of  earth  or  ocean, 

The  melancholy  gates  of  Death 

Respond  with  sympathetic  motion  ; 

Though  all  that  feeds  on  nether  air, 

Howe'er  magnificent  or  fair, 

Grows  but  to  perish,  and  entrust 

Its  ruins  to  their  kindred  dust  ; 

Yet  by  the  Almighty's  ever-during  care, 

Her  procreant  vigils  Nature  keeps 

Amid  the  unfathomable  deeps  ; 

And  saves  the  peopled  fields  of  earth 

From  dread  of  emptiness  or  dearth. 


Ixxvi  IXTRODUCTION. 

Thus,  in  their  stations,  lifting  tow'rd  the  sky 

The  foliaged  head  in  cloud-like  majesty. 

The  shadow-casting  race  of  trees  survive  : 

Thus,  in  the  train  of  Spring,  arrive 

Sweet  flowers ;  —  what  living  eye  hath  viewed 

Their  myriads  ?  —  endlessly  renewed, 

Wherever  strikes  the  sun's  glad  ray  ; 

Where'er  the  subtle  waters  stray  ; 

Wherever  sportive  breezes  bend 

Their  course,  or  genial  showers  descend  I 

Mortals  rejoice  !  the  very  Angels  quit 

Their  mansions,  unsusceptible  of  change. 

Amid  your  pleasant  bowers  to  sit, 

And  through  your  sweet  vicissitudes  to  range. 

Wordsworth  at  no  time  wrote  lines  of  higher  intention  or 
more  admirable  execution  than  these  of  1817  ;  indeed,  between 
Milton  and  Wordsworth  it  would  not  be  easy  to  find  a  nobler 
strain  of  imagination. 

Here  the  lines  have  been  quoted  with  a  purpose.  Although 
several  of  his  most  memorable  poems  were  written  after 
1820,  we  may  perhaps  say  that  by  that  date  the  vitality  of 
his  genius  had  declined ;  the  stream  of  his  verse  did  not 
quickly  dwindle,  but  it  ran  less  swiftly  ;  it  did  not  always 
force  its  own  way,  but  was  conducted  through  prepared 
channels.  His  best  work  comes  less  frequently  and  less 
surely ;  he  could  set  himself  subjects  (the  series  of  "  Eccle- 
siastical Sonnets  "  is  an  example),  and  apply  his  mind  to 
them  with  good  results,  but  he  was  less  often  than  in  earlier 
years  irresistibly  compelled  to  declare  a  vision  or  to  utter  a 
rapture  in  song.  He  sought  more  for  the  external  sugges- 
tions of  poetry,  and  many  of  his  verses  were  written  on  the 
occasion  of  foreign  travel.  He  had  indeed  given  full  and 
perfect  expression  to  his  most  characteristic  thoughts  and 
feelings.  But  now  and  again  the  old  inspiration  returns,  as 
in  the  sonnet  on  "  The  Pine  Tree  of  Monte  Mario,"  and 
not  a  few  other  pieces,  and  returns  with  its  original  force. 


INTRODUCTIOA.  Ixxvii 

Up  to  about  1820,  however,  there  was  development,  if 
there  was  also  something  of  decline.  A  reader  who  lives 
long  with  Wordsworth's  poetry  comes  gradually  to  set  a  high 
value  upon  a  considerable  body  of  his  later  writings.  And 
this  is  as  it  should  be  ;  nothing  is  more  characteristic  of  his 
genius  than  the  calm  and  clear  illumination  which  followed 
its  hours  of  morning  and  of  noon.  We  do  not  know  him 
aright  until  our  spirits  can  join  with  his  in  an  evening  volun- 
tary. That  almost  all  his  best  work  was  produced  between 
1798  and  1808,  as  Mathew  Arnold  alleged  and  Mr.  John 
Morley  repeats,  is  far  from  being  the  fact.  The  lines  quoted 
from  the  "  Vernal  Ode  "  are  an  example  of  his  later  manner. 
Principal  Shairp,  who  w^as  a  close  student  of  Wordsworth's 
poetry  and  entered  deeply  into  his  spirit,  takes  the  year 
1808,  when  the  poet  quitted  his  Grasmere  cottage,  as  the 
close  of  the  springtime  of  his  genius;  but  he  extends  the 
second  epoch,  or  "full  midsummer,"  as  far  as  1818  or  1820, 
It  was  the  period  of  "The  Excursion,"  "Laodamia,"  "Dion," 
the  "  Vernal  Ode,"  the  "  Ode  to  Lycoris,"  the  "  Longest 
Day,"  the  "  Pass  of  Kirkstone,"  the  "  Evening  of  Extraor- 
dinary Splendour  and  Beauty,"  many  passionate  political 
poems,  and  the  Duddon  sonnets.  Whoever  fails  to  recog- 
nize Wordsworth's  mature  genius  in  such  poems  as  these  is 
really  but  ill  acquainted  with  Wordsworth.  The  third  epoch, 
the  "sober  autumn,"  reaching  from  1820  to  1846,  when 
Wordsworth  ceased  to  write,  has  a  peculiar  beauty  and  value 
of  its  own.  We  may  not  accept  Mr.  Aubrey  de  Vere's 
statement  that  the  poems  of  this  autumnal  season  have  more 
"  latent  imagination  "  than  those  of  earlier  years,  or  that 
they  "  exhibit  faculties  more  perfectly  equipoised,"  but  we 
feel  that  Wordsworth's  work  would  lack  something  of  great 
worth  if  we  were  not  shown  how  the  radiance  of  his  youth 
passes  into  the  light  —  solemn  and  serene  —  of  his  old  age. 
He  himself  speaks  in  his  "  Guide  to  the  Lakes  "  of  the  pecu- 


Ixxviii  JNTRODUCTJOiV. 

liar,  spiritual  beauty  of  the  most  fortunate  days  of  September, 
when  the  vivifying  heats  of  summer  have  declined,  and  the  air 
is  lighter  and  more  pellucid ;  some  of  this  September  grace 
and  spiritual  clearness  may  be  perceived  and  felt  in  the  best 
verse  of  the  poet's  declining  years.  Its  strength  is  attuned 
to  gentleness ;  it  is  rich  in  the  wisdom  of  the  heart ;  its  tran- 
quillity covers  a  deep  experience  of  joy  and  sorrow  ;  it  is 
touched  with  Christian  humility  ;  its  vision  is  that  of  a  seer 
who  beholds  the  things  not  very  far  off, 

Mr.  R.  Holt  Hutton,  a  penetrating  critic,  read  before  the 
Wordsworth  Society  a  paper  which  he  entitled  "  On  Words- 
worth's Two  Styles."  It  contrasts  the  manner  of  Words- 
worth's poems  of  youth  with  that  of  the  poems  of  his  maturer 
and  later  years  —  "  the  classic  style  of  fresh  energy,  born  of 
his  long  devotion  to  Nature's  own  rhythms,"  with  the  style 
"  of  gracious  and  stately  feeling,  born  of  his  benignity,  of 
his  deep-set,  calm  sympathy  with  human  feeling";  the  style 
of  the  "  Solitary  Reaper  "  with  the  style  of  "  Devotional 
Incitements."  In  the  earlier  style,  according  to  the  critic's 
analysis,  objective  fact,  especially  when  appealing  to  the 
sense  of  vision,  plays  a  much  larger  part  than  in  the  later ; 
there  is  in  it  a  pure  elasticity,  a  buoyancy  almost  unique  in 
poetry ;  and  in  the  greater  of  the  early  pieces  "  emotion  is 
uniformly  suggested  rather  than  expressed,  or,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  the  paradox,  expressed  by  reticence,  by  the  jealous 
parsimony  of  a  half-voluntary,  half-involuntary  reserve."  In 
the  later  style  "  the  keenness  of  objective  vision  is  still  felt, 
but  is  less  dominant ;  the  buoyancy  is  much  diminished  "  ; 
while  on  the  other  hand,  "  emotion  is  much  more  freely, 
frankly  and  tenderly  expressed,  so  that  there  is  often  in  it 
a  richness  and  mellowness  of  effect  quite  foreign  to  Words- 
worth's earlier  mood  "  ;  feeling  "  flows  naturally,  and  with  a 
sweet  and  tender  lustre  shining  upon  it,  into  musical  expres- 
sion."    In  illustration  of  his  analysis  Mr.  Hutton  contrasts 


INJ'RODUCTIOiV.  Ixxix 

"  The  Daffodils  "  ("  I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud  ")  with 
"  The  Primrose  of  the  Rock,"  and  the  earliest  with  the  latest 
of  the  three  Yarrow  poems.  The  later  style,  says  Mr.  Hut- 
ton,  "  has  this  advantage  over  the  earlier,  that  when  its  sub- 
ject is  equally  fine  —  which,  as  I  admit,  it  often  is  not  —  the 
workmanship  is  far  more  complete,  often  almost  of  crystal 
beauty,  and  without  the  blots,  the  baldness,  the  dead-wood, 
which  almost  all  Wordsworth's  earlier  works  exhibit." 

The  truth  is,  not  that  Wordsworth  in  his  later  years 
failed  to  produce  work  of  high  value,  but  that  the  proportion 
which  such  work  bore  to  the  total  mass  is  far  smaller  than 
it  had  been  in  his  more  fervid  days.  The  power  of  sustained 
inspiration  ebbed  away,  but  in  shorter  poems,  and  especially 
in  the  sonnet,  he  was  sometimes  as  fortunate  as  ever.  Even 
so  late  as  1846,  the  last  year  of  his  authorship,  he  wrote  lines 
which  no  lover  of  Wordsworth's  poetry  could  willingly  forget, 
lines  which  tell  of  the  healing  influence  of  the  sound  of 
waters  heard  by  night  : 

The  unremitting  voice  of  nightly  streams 
Wants  not  a  healing  influence  that  can  creep 
Into  the  human  breast,  and  mix  with  sleep 
To  regulate  the  motions  of  our  dreams 
For  kindly  issues. 

Such  an  influence  the  stream  of  \\'ordsworth's  own  song 
possesses,  though  a  dwindled  stream,  while  the  shadows  of 
old  age  lay  around  him. 


V.     CLASSIFICATION  OF  WORDSWORTH'S  POEMS. 

In  a  volume  of  selections,  such  as  the  present,  it  is  not 
possible  to  preserve  Wordsworth's  arrangement  of  his  poems, 
and  the  chronological  arrangement  (except  in  the  case  of  a 


Ixxx  INTRODUCriON. 

few  political  sonnets,  where  the  original  order  is  preserved) 
has  been  adopted  as  on  the  whole  the  most  instructive  for  a 
student.  The  chronological  study  is  important  and  fruitful, 
but  Wordsworth  himself  had  the  strongest  objection  to  such 
a  mode  of  presenting  his  complete  poetical  works,  and  in  a 
complete  text  for  general  readers  more  would  be  lost  than 
gained  by  such  a  departure  from  his  carefully  considered 
scheme.  Indeed  the  chronology  is  only  in  part  ascertained  ; 
for  many  poems  we  have  no  nearer  date  than  that  of  publi- 
cation ;  not  a  few  of  those  to  which  the  author,  trusting  to 
his  memory,  affixed  the  supposed  year  of  composition,  were 
incorrectly  dated.  His  own  arrangement  was  first  made  for 
the  edition  of  1815  ;  and  in  all  later  editions  which  had  his 
authority  it  was  maintained.  His  guiding  wish  was  that  the 
shorter  pieces  should  be  regarded,  first,  as  composing  an 
entire  work  within  themselves,  and  secondly,  as  adjuncts  to 
the  great  philosophical  poem  "The  Recluse,"  of  which  "The 
Prelude  "  and  "  The  Excursion  "  form  parts.  He  com- 
pared "  The  Excursion"  to  the  body  of  a  Gothic  church,  and 
"  The  Prelude  "  to  its  ante-chapel ;  his  minor  pieces,  he  says, 
if  properly  arranged,  may  be  likened  "  to  the  little  cells,  ora- 
tories, and  sepulchral  recesses  ordinarily  included  "  in  such 
an  edifice.  While  it  is  highly  desirable  that  the  reader  of 
the  complete  works  should  be  provided  with  a  chronological 
table  as  nearly  exact  as  the  state  of  our  knowledge  admits, 
he  should  also  make  himself  acquainted  with  Wordsworth's 
plan  as  a  master  builder,  and  should  consider  the  poems  as 
they  were  placed  by  the  author  with  a  view  to  their  mutual 
illustration.  Wordsworth  desired  that  his  entire  work  should 
be  regarded  as  a  great  unity,  having  a  beginning,  a  middle, 
and  an  end.  He  also  desired  that  it  should,  as  far  as 
possible,  correspond  with  that  which  formed  the  subject  of 
the  whole  —  the  life  of  man,  commencing  with  Childhood, 
and    progressing   to    Old     Age,    Death,    and     Immortality. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxi 

When  he  came  to  consider  the  poems  more  in  detail,  he  per- 
ceived three  principles  under  which  they  might  be  grouped  : 
they  might  be  arranged  according  to  the  themes  of  which 
they  treat ;  or  secondly,  according  to  the  moulds  or  forms  in 
which  they  are  cast ;  or,  thirdly,  according  to  the  powers  of 
mind  predominant  in  their  production  ;  finally,  these  three 
principles  might  be  made  to  work  together,  and  preside  in 
harmonious  confederacy  over  the  whole. 

Wordsworth  decided  in  favour  of  the  last  of  these  methods. 
The  whole  body  of  his  work  was  arranged  so  as  to  have  a 
beginning,  middle,  and  end  on  the  model  of  its  theme  of  human 
life.  First,  as  belonging  to  his  own  early  years  he  placed  the 
"  Poems  written  in  Youth,'"  next  the  poems  referring  gen- 
erally to  the  Period  of  Childhood.  The  collection  closed 
with  "  Poems  referring  to  Old  Age,"  "  Epitaphs  and  Elegiac 
Pieces,"  suggested  by  Death,  and  the  "  Ode  —  Intimations  of 
Immortality."  The  first  poem  of  those  of  Childhood,  that 
which  tells  of  the  binding  together  of  all  our  days  in  "  natural 
piety,"  furnishes  a  motto  for  the  "  Ode  "  which  takes  up  the 
same  thought  and  develops  it,  and  which  forms  the  head- 
stone of  the  entire  edifice,  or — shall  we  say? — the  high- 
altar  of  the  church.  Having  passed  the  poems  of  Childhood, 
we  find  the  principle  of  arrangement  according  to  the  pre- 
dominant faculty  introduced ;  and  under  this  principle  the 
first  group  is  that  of  "  Poems  founded  on  the  Affections." 
The  attentive  reader  will  notice  that  the  pieces  under  this 
heading  do  not  follow  one  another  at  hap-hazard.  While  the 
method  is  not  one  of  absolute  rigidity,  in  general  the  poems 
observe  the  sequence  in  which  our  affections  are  naturally 
developed, —  first  the  love  of  brothers  and  sisters;  next 
the  passions  of  friends  and  of  lovers  ;  then  the  affection  of 
husband  and  wife,  and  finally  the  loves  and  griefs  of  parents. 
So  we  pass  from  "The  Brothers  "  and  "Artegal  and  Elidure  " 
to  the  stanzas  which  tell  of  Wordsworth's  companionship 


Ixxxii  INTRODUCrWN. 

with  Coleridge  and  the  "  Lucy  "  group,  from  these  to  poems 
connected  with  Mary  Wordsworth,  and  again  to  "  The 
Childless  Father,"  "'  The  Emigrant  Mother,"  and  "  Michael." 
The  "  Poems  on  the  Naming  of  Places  "  introduces  a  new 
principle  of  classification,  that  in  which  the  mould  or  form 
determines  the  group.  The  moulds  of  poetry  are  enumerated 
by  Wordsworth  as  the  Narrative,  the  Dramatic,  the  Lyrical 
(including  Hymn,  Elegy,  Ode,  Song,  Ballad),  the  Idyllium, 
Didactic  poetry,  and  lastly  Philosophical  Satire.  Under  the 
Idyllium  he  places  not  only  the  Idyl  proper,  but  the  Epitaph, 
the  Inscription,  the  Sonnet,  and  such  loco-descriptive  poems 
as  those  on  the  Naming  of  Places.  But  the  names  given  to 
rock  and  grove,  to  woodland  pool  and  mountain  peak,  are 
derived  from  beloved  persons  —  John's  Grove,  Emma's 
Dell,  Joanna's  Rock,  Mary's  and  Sarah's  rocks  ;  the  poems 
are  thus  connected  with  the  affections,  and  they  appropri- 
ately follow  the  "  Poems  founded  on  the  Affections." 

The  psychological  classification  based  on  the  predominant 
faculties  is  continued  in  the  "  Poems  of  the  Fancy,"  "  Poems 
of  the  Imagination  "  and  "'  Poems  of  Sentiment  and  Reflec- 
tion." But  under  the  second'  of  these  headings  are  many 
subordinate  groups,  some  formed,  as  the  several  series  of 
Itinerary  Poems,  by  virtue  of  a  community  of  subject,  others, 
as  the  Miscellaneous  Sonnets,  by  virtue  of  identity  of  form. 
In  arranging  the  individual  pieces  which  make  up  these 
groups  Wordsworth  was  guided  by  a  desire  to  exhibit  their 
mutual  illustration,  while  at  the  same  time  he  aimed  at 
preserving  due  proportion  and  introducing  an  agreeable 
variety.  How  carefully  all  this  was  considered  and  carried 
out  may  be  seen  by  any  one  who  will  turn  to  the  "  Miscel- 
laneous Sonnets  "  in  any  complete  edition  which  preserves 
Wordsworth's  arrangement.  These  sonnets  were  written  at 
various  times  and  seasons,  and  if  chronologically  placed 
many  that  stand  side  by  side  would  be  severed  from  one 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxiii 

another;  as  arranged  by  their  author  they  form  not  a  Hnked 
chain  of  sonnets,  but  a  sequence,  so  far  as  a  sequence  can 
be  made  from  disconnected  poems  by  happy  ordering.  I 
may  be  permitted  to  refer  the  reader  to  a  note  in  the  Aldine 
edition  of  Wordsworth  (vol.  iii,  pp.  327,  328),  where  I  have 
exhibited  in  detail  the  sequence  of  the  Miscellaneous  Son- 
nets, Part  I.  Here  it  may  suffice  to  call  attention  to  the 
mutual  illustration  afforded  by  Sonnets  iii-xvi  of  Part  II ; 
written  at  various  intervals  from  1815  to  1827,  these  poems 
are  so  disposed  as  to  constitute  a  continuous  pleading  against 
despondency  and  in  favour  of  heroic  effort,  courage,  tranquil- 
lity, and  cheerful  hope.  But  no  one  can  have  read  the  "  Poems 
of  the  Imagination,"  which  are  placed  first  in  that  group, 
and  have  failed  to  perceive  the  importance  of  Wordsworth's 
arrangement.  "  Beggars,"  for  example  and  "  Gipsies,"  which 
stand  side  by  side,  may  be  said  to  belong  to  each  other ;  so 
again  with  "  Laodamia "  and  "Dion";  so  with  "Star- 
Gazers"  and  the  "Power  of  Music";  so  with  "The  Pass 
of  Kirkstone  "  and  "  To  Enterprise."  In  fact,  Wordsworth 
had  not  overstated  the  matter  when  he  says  that  for  him  who 
reads  with  reflection  the  arrangement  will  "  serve  as  a  com- 
mentary," unostentatiously  directing  him  to  the  poet's  pur- 
poses both  particular  and  general.  He  admits  that  there  is 
necessarily  a  certain  amount  of  cross  division  between  the 
groups;  the  poems  of  the  Fancy  and  those  of  the  Imagina- 
tion might  without  impropriety,  he  says,  have  been  enlarged 
from  the  "  Poems  founded  on  the  Affections,"  as  these 
might  be  enlarged  from  the  former  classes  and  from  the 
group  "  proceeding  from  Sentiment  and  Reflection."  Still,  in 
assigning  their  positions  to  the  several  poems  he  exercised 
his  best  judgment,  and  it  is  worth  something  to  us  to  stand 
at  the  writer's  point  of  view.  If  we  obliterate  his  arrange- 
ment, we  efface  no  insignificant  part  of  the  expression  of  his 
mind. 


Ixxxiv  JNTRODUCTION. 

The  several  groups  founded  on  the  predominant  faculties 
may  in  the  general  arrangement,  presenting  the  course  of 
human  life,  be  said  to  represent  the  maturity  of  manhood, 
when  the  faculties  have  attained  their  full  development,  and 
are  still  untouched  by  decline.  To  complete  the  large  design, 
it  only  remains  to  add  to  these  the  poems  referring  to  Old 
Age,  to  Death,  and  to  Immortality.  Whether  Wordsworth's 
scheme  justifies  itself  or  not  to  a  reader's  intelligence,  there, 
at .  all  events,  it  is :  something  which  Wordsworth  himself 
considered  of  high  importance ;  something  which  he  pon- 
dered long ;  and  something  therefore  deserving  of  careful 
study,  which  an  editor  of  the  complete  poetical  works  is 
bound  to  preserve  as  an  essential  and  a  characteristic  feature 
of  the  whole. 


VI.     THE    TEXT  OF  WORDSWORTH'S    POEMS.i 

No  English  poet  was  a  more  careful  and  conscientious 
craftsman  than  Wordsworth  ;  he  could  not  be  content  if  he 
had  done  less  than  his  best.  His  judgment  was  excellent, 
and  his  sensibility  and  skill  in  all  matters  of  detail  increased 
as  he  continued  to  practise  his  art.  But  of  course  to 
rehandle  in  a  critical  mood  work  which  was  produced  in  the 
fervour  of  creation  is  a  process  attended  with  risks.  When 
the  emotions  are  aroused  and  the  mind  is  all  vital,  remote 
relations  are  apprehended,  occult  connections  are  felt,  which 
it  is  hardly  possible  to  keep  before  the  mental  vision  while 
the  eye  moves  critically  from  point  to  point.  Wordsworth 
began  the  revision  of  his  poems  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment,  in  1800;  in  each  new  edition  —  in  1803,  1805, 
1815,  1820,  1827,   1832- — omissions,  additions,  and  altera- 

1  In  this  section  I  have  made  use  of  some  passages  already  printed  in 
the  article  on  the  same  subject  in  my  "  Transcripts  and  Studies." 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  Ixxx  V 

tions  were  made.  For  the  first  stereotyped  edition,  that  of 
1836-1837,  a  very  searching  revisal  was  carried  out ;  in  1840 
the  work  was  begun  anew  ;  further  changes  were  made  in  the 
text  of  1845,  and  many  earlier  readings  were  then  restored. 
Even  the  edition  completed  in  1850,  the  year  of  Wordsworth's 
death,  shows  that  to  the  last  he  had  his  eye  upon  perfection. 

Among  readers  who  have  not  carefully  studied  Words- 
worth's text,  an  impression  is  common  that  he  did  his  work 
much  wrong.  The  impression,  if  we  have  regard  to  the  final 
result,  is  certainly  erroneous.  A  few  poems  suffered  loss, 
but,  on  the  whole,  the  gain  was  great.  The  latest  text  is  the 
best  text.  It  was  a  most  happy  circumstance  that  Words- 
worth lived  long  enough  to  consider  from  a  sufficient  dis- 
tance in  time  the  alterations  of  1836- 183 7.  Many  of  them 
were  improvements ;  but  the  poet,  having  taken  in  hand  a 
thorough  revisal  of  his  works  for  that  edition,  seems  to  have 
acquired  a  certain  pleasure  in  the  process  of  effecting  altera- 
tions ;  what  should  have  been  the  task  of  his  best  moments 
became  a  daily  business ;  he  was  sometimes  entangled  in 
new  thoughts  ;  his  insight  was  often  perplexed ;  his  discre- 
tion occasionally  failed ;  and  the  rehandling  was  carried  a 
great  deal  too  far.  In  1845  Wordsworth  retained  what  was 
best  from  the  revision  of  1836-1837,  and  perceiving  the 
error  of  his  ways,  he  cancelled  most  of  the  changes  that 
were  injudicious,  and  in  these  passages  recovered  the  text 
of  earlier  years.  Substantially  his  labours  of  nearly  half 
a  century  were  completed  by  the  year  1845. 

From  no  other  English  poet  can  lessons  in  the  poetic 
craft  so  full,  so  detailed,  and  so  instructive  be  obtained  as 
those  to  be  had  by  one  who  follows  Wordsworth  through 
the  successive  editions,  and  puts  to  himself  the  repeated 
question  "  For  what  reason  was  this  change,  for  what  reason 
was  that,  introduced  ?  "  A  reason  there  always  was,  though 
now  and  again   it    may  have    been  an    insufficient  reason. 


Ixxxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

Sometimes  the  suggestion  which  led  to  an  alteration  came 
from  an  external  quarter ;  from  friends,  such  as  Lamb  or 
Coleridge  ;  or  from  hostile  critics  ;  and  in  certain  instances, 
though  Wordsworth  at  first  resisted,  his  better  judgment 
went  over  to  the  side  of  his  critics;  but  in  general  the 
changes  express  the  independent  thoughts  and  feelings  of 
the  poet  himself,  and  we  can  read  in  them  something  of  the 
growth  of  his  mind.  To  classify  all  the  alterations  of 
text  with  reference  to  the  ground  of  each  would  be  an  end- 
less task;  in  each  instance  the  student  must  endeavour  to 
think  out  for  himself  the  motive  of  the  variation  ;  but  it 
may  be  helpful  to  indicate  here  a  few  of  the  more  obvious 
grounds  of  change. 

I .  Words  Incorrectly  used.  —  An  example  will  be  found  in 
the  poem  "  There  was  a  Boy,"  where  the  word  "scene  "  was 
used  of  audible,  not  visual,  phenomena  ;  "  a  wild  scene 
of  jocund  din  "  in  later  texts  became  "concourse  wild  of  joc- 
und din."     In  "  Ruth,"  11.  196,  198,  Wordsworth  originally 

wrote  : 

And  there  exulting  in  her  wrongs, 
Among  the  music  of  her  songs, 
She  fearfully  carouz'd. 

Lamb  objected  that  "  carouse  "  in  this  sense  was  not  Eng- 
lish, and  the  lines  became  : 

And  there,  with  many  a  doleful  song 
Made  of  wild  words,  her  cup  of  wrong 
She  fearfully  caroused. 

Out  of  forty-two  passages  in  which  the  word  "  frame " 
occurred,  as  substantive  or  verb,  in  the  earliest  texts,  it 
remains  after  the  final  revision  in  only  eight.  (For  the 
probable  grounds  of  the  changes,  see  "  The  Academy,"  Dec. 
2,  1893,  p.  486,  in  an  article  by  Mr.  Thomas  Hutchinson.) 
Again,  while  in  two  passages  the  words  "sombre  "  and  "  som- 
brous  "  are  retained,  where  they  mean  shady  or  over-shadow- 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxvii 

ing,  they  disappear  from  four  passages,  where  they  had  been 
used  in  the  sense  of  dark,  dull,  or  dusky.  (See  the  same 
article  in  "The  Academy.") 

2.  Words  used  too  Frequetitly.  —  Certain  poets  may  almost 
be  identified  by  an  affection  for  some  particular  adjective  ; 
with  one  it  is  "dim,"  with  another  "sterile,"  with  another 
"wan."  The  word  "  visionary  "  is  a  favourite  with  Words- 
worth, but  he  uses  it  always  with  perfect  propriety.  One 
adjective,  however,  of  facile  application  and  somewhat  vague 
suggestiveness  —  "sweet  "  ^ —  haunted  his  imagination  in 
early  years,  and  starred  his  verse  all  over  as  the  daisy  stars 
an  English  lawn.  He  determined  to  deal  severely  with  this 
small  offender  ;  it  was  hunted  as  a  criminal,  discovered  in 
its  nestling-places,  dragged  to  the  critical  judgment-seat, 
and  sentenced,  in  many  instances,  to  perpetual  banishment. 
Sweet  smiles,  sweet  looks,  sweet  flowers,  sweet  bowers,  sweet 
flocks,  sweet  mornings  greet  us  no  more  where  once  they  did, 
and  bright  looks,  soft  bowers,  fine  flocks  take  their  place. 

No  Nightingale  did  ever  chaunt 
So  sweetly  to  reposing  bands 

as  the  Solitary  Reaper  sang  in  her  poet's  inward  ear. 

No  sweeter  voice  was  ever  heard 
In  spring-time  from  the  cuckoo-bird 

than  that  voice  of  hers.     In  later  texts  the  lines  become, 

No  Nightingale  did  ever  chaunt 
More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands. 

A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard 
In  spring-time  from  the  cuckoo-bird, 

and  the  changes  at  once  justify  themselves  to  the  reader's 
imagination.  Mr.  T.  Hutchinson  has  accumulated  statistics  : 
"  In    1827   Wordsworth  removed  the  word   sweet  from   ten 


Ixxxviii  INTRODUCTION. 

places  in  the  poems  ;  in  1832  from  one  place  ;  in  1836  from 
ten  ;  in  1840  from  one  ;  and  in  1845  from  three." 

3.  Words  misp7-07iounced.  —  Wordsworth's  use  of  the  word 
"towards"  has  been  made  the  subject  of  a  careful  exami- 
nation by  Mr.  Hutchinson,  in  "  The  Academy,"  Dec.  2, 
1893.  In  many  instances  it  was  altered  to  "toward,"  where 
the  final  s  marred  the  melody  of  a  line  ;  this  change  was  of 
course  effected  without  difificulty.  But  Wordsworth's  opinion 
as  to  the  correct  pronunciation  of  the  word  altered  as  time 
went  on  ;  at  first  he  regarded  it  as  a  dissyllable  ;  from  1836 
onwards  he  uses  it  invariably  as  a  monosyllable,  but  as  early 
as  1827  he  seems  to  have  preferred  the  monosyllable  pro- 
nunciation. The  matter  seems  very  trifling  ;  yet,  trifling  or 
not,  it  involved  Wordsworth  in  a  considerable  series  of 
alterations,  and  in  some  instances  entire  sentences  were  re- 
cast in  order  to  avoid  the  dissyllabic  "toward"  or  "towards." 
At  least  twenty-four  passages  were  re-handled  for  this  rea- 
son, and  the  process  begun  in  1827  was  not  completed  until 
the  final  edition  of  1849-1850. 

4.  Metrical  Errors.  —  An  example  will  be  found  in  "  Per- 
sonal Talk,  "1.  3  (ed.  1807), 

About  friends  who  live  within  an  easy  walk, 

which  was  easily  set  right  ("  Of  friends,"  etc.)  in  the  edition 
of  1815.  In  "  The  Sparrow's  Nest  "  until  1845  "  fear'd  it  " 
stood  as  the  rhyme  to  "  near  it." 

5.  In/iarmoiiioHS  Effects  of  Sound.  —  In  several  instances 
the  clashing  of  the  "  th  "  with  "  th  "  in  the  earlier  texts  was 
avoided  by  the  alteration  of  a  word.  Thus,  in  "Strange  Fits 
of  Passion  "  the  words  "  Benea/"//  th^  evening  moon  "  became 
in  1836  "  Beneath  an  evening  moon."  A  more  interesting 
example  is  noted  by  Mr  Hutchinson:  in  "The  Redbreast 
and  the  Butterfly,"  edd.  1807-1820,  occur  the  lines  : 

The  Bird  whom,  by  some  name  or  other, 
All  men  who  know  thee  call  their  Brother. 


INTRODUCTION.  Ixxxix 

His  objection  to  the  hum  of  the  labial-nasal  in  whom,  some, 
name  led  Wordsworth  into  a  grammatical  error  in  edd.  1827- 
1845,  which  read  : 

"  The  Bird,  who  by  some  name  or  other,"  etc 

But  why  did  he  not  alter  "  whom  "  of  1807-1820  into  "  that" 
in  accordance  with  his  general  practice  in  edd.  1827-1836? 
Doubtless  it  was  because  of  the  unusually  large  number  of 
th  sounds  occurring  in  the  opening  lines  of  the  poem.  .  .  . 
However,  the  claims  of  grammar  prevailed  over  considera- 
tions of  euphony,  and  in  his  final  revision  of  the  poems  (for 
ed.  1849),  Wordsworth  corrected  thus  : 

The  Bird,  that  by  some  name  or  other. ' 

Again,  in  "  Nutting,"  the  inharmonious  succession  of  the  en 
sound  in  the  line  "  Ev^«  th*?;/  \\h.e7i  from  the  bower  I  turned 
away"  was  got  rid  of  by  the  new  reading  of  1836,  —  "Ere 
from  the  mutilated  bower  I  turned."  In  the  same  year  the 
line  "  Tha/  at  no  season  fade  "  in  the  poem  "  To  a  Young 
Lady  who  had  been  reproached  for  taking  long  walks  in  the 
country"  became  "Which  at,"  etc.  In  line  51  of  "  Lao- 
damia,"  originally  "That  then,  when  tens  of  thousands  were 
deprest,"  a  th  sound  was  removed  in  1820  by  the  substitu- 
tion of  "  Which  "  for  "  That,"  but  it  seems  as  if  "  th^//,  wh<f;/ 
t^«s  "  escaped  Wordsworth's  notice.  Yet  his  ear  was  pecu- 
liarly sensitive  to  the  disagreeable  recurrence  of  identical 
sounds ;  in  "  Beggars  "  he  altered  the  admirable  line  "  Pour- 
ing out  sorrows  like  a  sea  "  because  (as  he  told  a  friend) 
"sea"  clashes  with  "was  beautiful  to  see,"  which  occurs, 
(not  as  rhyme)  at  the  distance  of  four  lines. 

6.  Errors  in  Observation  or  Statement  of  Fact.  —  In  "  The 
Brothers  "  the  "  broad  ^r(?^«  wave  "  that  flashed  images  round 
Leonard  as  he  sailed  under  a  cloudless  sky,  becomes  a  "  broad 

1  "  The  Academy,"  Dec.  2,  1893. 


xc  INTRODUCTION. 

blue  \\dL\Q.  The  "  cowslip-gathering  at  May's  dewy  prime" 
remembered  by  the  "  Female  Vagrant,"  becomes  in  ed.  1820 
a  cowslip-gathering  of  June.  The  poem  was  written  in  the 
South  of  England,  and  the  scene  is  laid  in  the  South  ;  per- 
haps Wordsworth  at  first  overlooked  the  fact  that  the 
Vagrant's  early  days  were  spent  "by  Derwent's  side,"  where 
spring  flowers  would  be  tardy  in  arrival.  Again,  in  more 
than  one  passage  of  the  early  texts  the  female  bird  is  made 
the  chief  songster  ;  in  later  editions  the  sex  of  the  bird  is 
changed.  In  the  "  Complaint  of  a  Forsaken  Indian  Woman," 
in  the  earlier  texts  occur  the  lines  : 

In  sleep  did  I  behold  the  skies, 
I  saw  the  crackling  flashes  drive. 

The  author  perceived  that  the  word  "  crackling  "  required  a 
verb  of  hearing,  and  the  final  reading  is  the  following  : 

In  rustling  conflict  through  the  skies 
I  heard,  I  saw  the  .flashes  drive. 

Sir  Walter,  in  "Hart-Leap  Well,"  "chid  and  cheered"  his 
hounds  weary  with  the  chase  ;  a  good  master  would  first 
cheer  and  afterwards  chide,  and  so  the  words  were  altered. 
The  old  Leech-gatherer,  when  questioned  as  to  his  occupa- 
tion, in  edd.  1807-1815,  answered,  "with  pleasure  and  sur- 
prise : 

And  there  was,  while  he  spake,  a  fire  about  his  eyes." 

But  the  sudden  response  of  his  eyes  would  have  anticipated 
the  slow  and  solemn  words  on  his  lips,  and  the  text  accord- 
ingly became  : 

Ere  he  replied,  a  flash  of  mild  surprise 

Broke  from  the  sable  orbs  of  his  yet-vivid  eyes. 

7.  Errors  of  Exaggeration.  —  At  first  the  hunted  hart  of 
"  Hart-Leap  Well  "  covered  in  his  three  leaps  "  nine  roods  "  ; 
the  extravagance  was  more  than  even  a  willing  imagination 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  xc  i 

could  credit,  and  the  nine  roods  became  four.  In  the  same 
poem  the  over-strained  horse  stood  "  foaming  like  a  moun- 
tain cataract  "  ;  the  foam  of  a  cataract  is  a  continuous  mov- 
ing mass  of  white  ;  the  horse  could  not  be  more  than  thickly 
flecked  ;  and  the  words  in  1820  were  altered  to  "  white  with 
foam  as  if  with  cleaving  sleet."  In  the  lines  '"  To  my 
Sister,"  Wordsworth  wrote,  in    1798: 

One  moment  now  may  give  us  more 
Than  fifty  years  of  reason. 

The  assertion  was  too  extreme  and  too  definite  in  its  excess, 
and  the  closing  words  became,  in  1837  "  Than  years  of  toil- 
ing reason." 

8.  Errors  of  Triviality  and  Needless  G rotes queness.  —  The 
instances  are  many.  Simon  Lee,  during  two  and  twenty 
years,  stood  before  the  reader  in  that  "  long  blue  livery  coat" 

That 's  fair  behind  and  fair  before, 

and  which  is  only  faintly  referred  to  after  1815  ;  during 
several  years  more  he  remained  bereft  of  his  right  eye  ; 
finally  the  eye  was  restored  to  Simon,  but  the  lustre  of  his 
livery  was  dimmed.  It  did  not  assist  the  pathos  of  the 
poem  to  make  the  old  huntsman  too  piteously  grotesque  a 
figure.  In  1819  the  opening  stanza  of  "  Peter  Bell,"  Part  I, 
ran  as  follows : 

All  by  the  moonlight  river-side 

It  gave  three  miserable  groans  ; 
"  'T  is  come  then  to  a  pretty  pass," 
Said  Peter  to  the  groaning  Ass, 

"  But  I  will  bang  your  bones." 

And,  again,  in  a  later  stanza  there  is  a  second  bone-banging. 
Already  in  the  following  year  this  had  been  erased.  A  verse 
of  the  poem  which  Shelley  prefixed  as  a  motto  to  his  satiri- 
cal "  Peter  Bell  the  Third  "  —  that  verse  descriptive  of  a  pos- 


xcii  INTRODUCTION. 

sible  vision  of  prosaic  horror  below  the  water  into  which 
the  Potter  is  staring  : 

Is  it  a  party  in  a  parlour 

Crammed  just  as  they  on  earth  were  crammed, 
Some  sipping  punch  —  some  sipping  tea, 
But,  as  you  by  their  faces  see, 
All  silent  and  all  —  damned  ? 

that  verse,  which  is  no  invention  of  Shelley's  —  disappeared 
hastily,  and  disappeared  so  effectually  that  its  existence  at 
any  time  in  Wordsworth's  poems  has  been  denied.  "'  The 
Idiot  Boy,"  written  with  speed  and  in  a  gleeful  mood,  was 
always  a  favourite  with  its  author.  Yet  he  made  a  sacrifice 
of  some  passages,  which  seemed  to  approach  too  near  the 
ludicrous  : 

Beneath  the  moon  which  shines  so  bright, 
Till  she  is  tired,  let  Betty  Foy 

With  girt  and  ?,i\xx\y^  fiddle-faddle  ; 

But  wherefore  set  upon  a  saddle 

Him  whom  she  loves,  her  Idiot  Boy  ? 

Betty  fiddle-faddled  from  1798  to  1820;  and  then  she  or 
her  poet  tired,  and  she  fiddle-faddled  no  more.  In  that 
tragic  poem  "  The  Thorn  "  the  infant's  grave  was  at  first 
described  as  if  it  had  been  studied  by  an  undertaker  : 

I  've  measured  it  from  side  to  side, 
'T  is  three  feet  long,  and  two  feet  wide. 

Wordsworth  declared  to  Crabb  Robinson  that  these  lines 
"  ought  to  be  liked  "  ;  and  perhaps  he  was  right,  for  it  is 
only  conjectured  that  Martha  Ray  buried  her  baby  there, 
and  we  are  interested  in  receiving  the  exact  evidence  of  a 
prosaic  witness.     Nevertheless,  the  lines  were  dignified  as 

follows  : 

Though  but  of  compass  small,  and  bare 
To  thirsty  suns  and  parching  air. 


INTRODUCTION.  xciii 

The  fire  which  burned  in  Martha's  bones,  when  Stephen 
deserted  her,  in  the  earlier  record. 

Dried  her  body  to  a  cinder, 

And  almost  turned  her  brain  to  tinder. 

For  which  lines  we  read  from  1815  onwards  — 

A  fire  was  kindled  in  her  breast, 
Which  might  not  burn  itself  to  rest. 

"  Old  Farmer  Simpson,"  who  knew  the  sorrows  of  Martha, 
disappeared  from  the  poem  in  1820,  and  "grey-haired  Wil- 
fred of  the  glen  "  enters  vice  Farmer  Simpson  removed. 
The  processes  by  which  dignity  and  eloquence  were  added 
to  the  fine  poem  "  Beggars  "  can  be  traced  in  the  notes  of 
the  present  volume.  In  1807  the  "Blind  Highland  Boy" 
embarked  on  his  perilous  voyage  in  a  humble  craft  : 

A  household  tub,  like  one  of  those 
Which  women  use  to  wash  their  clothes. 

In  1815,  on  Coleridge's  suggestion,  a  turtle-shell  replaced  the 
honest,  if  prosaic,  tub  ;  and  by  and  by  the  turtle-shell  came 
to  resemble  the  pearly  car  of  Amphitrite.  Many  readers 
will  prefer  —  and  perhaps  justly  —  the  original  version  of 
the  voyage. 

9.  Intrusion  of  the  Personal.  —  Wordsworth's  poems,  even 
when  on  objective  themes,  are  impressed  with  the  charac- 
teristics of  his  mind  ;  they  are  distinctively  Wordsworthean  ; 
but  as  he  advanced  in  the  poetic  art  he  desired  to  avoid  the 
intrusion  of  all  that  belonged  to  him  accidentally  as  an 
individual,  and  also  the  intrusion  of  self-consciousness  in 
poems  where  it  was  needless  or  out  of  place.  On  this  point 
he  was  sensitive.  In  "  Beggars  "  the  line  "  In  all  my  walks 
through  field  or  town  "  was  altered,  as  he  himself  declared, 
because  it  was  "  obtrusively  personal  "  ;  the  subject  of  the 
poem  was  the  majestic  vagrant  and   her   wanton   boys ;   it 


xciv  INTRODUCTIOh'. 

neither  concerns  them  nor  us  to  know  where  the  historical 
William  Wordsworth  chose  to  direct  his  walks.  Probably 
for  a  like  reason  he  altered  a  line  in  "  Personal  Talk  "  — 

By  my  half-kitchen  and  half-parlour  fire. 

At  one  time  he  regretted  the  loss  of  these  words,  which 
reminded  him  of  the  modest  cottage  at  Grasniere  and  its 
happy  interior ;  but  the  fact  that  Dorothy  cooked  in  the 
sitting-room  does  not  really  concern  the  reader  of  the  poem. 
In  the  "  Poems"  of  1807  appeared  a  group  with  the  general 
title  "  Moods  of  My  Own  Mind  " ;  the  title  disappeared  from 
later  editions.  So  also  from  a"  A  Whirl-blast,"  the  con- 
cluding lines  — 

Oh  !  grant  me,  Heaven,  a  heart  at  ease, 

That  I  may  never  cease  to  find, 
Even  in  appearances  like  these, 

Enough  to  nourish  and  to  stir  my  mind  — 

were  omitted  as  a  self-conscious  return  of  the  poet  upon 
himself.  It  was  that  reserve  of  the  personal  which  is  an 
element  of  artistic  idealization  that  led  Wordsworth  to  sub- 
stitute imaginary  names,  Emma,  Emmeline,  Laura,  for  the 
actual  Dorothy  and  Dora;  but  in  two  instances,  after  the 
loss  of  his  daughter  (in  "The  Kitten  and  the  Falling  Leaves" 
and  "The  Longest  Day  "),  when  she  entered  into  the  ideal- 
ity of  death,  Wordsworth  indulged  his  desire  to  connect  her 
memory  with  his  poems,  and  displaced  "  Laura "  for  the 
name  "  Dora." 

ID.  Extravagance  or  Violence  0/ Feeling.  —  In  the  "Tribute 
to  the  Memory  of  a  Dog,"  feelings  were  expressed  and  lan- 
guage was  employed  which  at  a  later  time  seemed  to  Words- 
worth of  a  kind  that  should  be  reserved  for  human  creatures. 
The  two  opening  lines  — 

Lie  here  sequester'd  :  —  be  this  little  mound 
For  ever  thine,  and  be  it  holy  ground  — 


INTRODUCTION.  xcv 

were  omitted  in  1827.  The  line  "I  pray'd  for  thee,  and 
that  thy  end  were  past"  became  in  1820  "  We  grieved  for 
thee,  and  wished  thy  end  were  past."     In  1837  the  reading 

For  love  that  conies  wherever  life  and  sense 
Are  given  by  God,  in  thee  was  most  intense. 

replaced  the  earlier 

For  love,  that  comes  to  all  ;  the  holy  sense, 
Best  gift  of  God,  in  thee  was  most  intense. 

Little  "  Music  "  gallantly  tried  to  save  her  drowning  com- 
panion. \\'ordsworth  did  not  love  the  generous  dog  less  ; 
but  he  was  unwilling  to  associate  the  idea  of  "  holiness  "  with 
a  brute  ;  and  perhaps  in  the  hierarchy  of  our  emotions  more 
is  lost  than  gained  by  an  unreasonable  levelling-up.  Excess 
of  an  opposite  kind  was  tempered  in  the  later  texts  of  "  A 
Poet's  Epitaph."  The  lawyer  is  forbidden  to  approach  the 
poet's  resting  place.     In  1800  the  lines  ran  — 

Go,  carry  to  some  other  place 
The  hardness  of  thy  coward  eye. 
The  falsehood  of  thy  sallow  face. 

Lamb,  in  a  letter  to  Wordsworth,  censured  the  common 
satire  upon  parsons  and  lawyers,  and  also  the  words  ad- 
dressed to  the  philosopher,  "  thy  pin  point  of  a  soul." 
Wordsworth  yielded  ;  the  pin-point  became  first  "  that  abject 
thing,  thy  soul,"  and  finally  "  thy  ever-dwindling  soul  "  :  the 
indictment  of  the  lawyer  was  reduced  to  — 

The  keenness  of  that  practised  eye, 
The  hardness  of  that  sallow  face. 

The  "Ode,  1815,"  was  written  in  a  mood  of  high  and 
stern  enthusiasm ;  Wordsworth  triumphed  over  the  defeat  of 
the  enemies  of  England  and  of  freedom  :  the  divine  purpose 


xcvi  INTRODUCTION. 

had  been  terribly  accomplished;  and  addressing  the  Almighty 
disposer  of  events,  he  dared  to  put  forth  the  lines  : 

But  thy  most  dreaded  instrument 

In  working  out  a  pure  intent 

Is  Man  —;  arrayed  for  mutual  slaughter  — 

Yea,  Carnage  is  thy  daughter  I 

Weak  brethren  were  offended ;  and  the  poet  himself  lapsed 
from  his  mood  of  fierce  exultation ;  he  omitted  the  last  two 
lines,  and  transformed  the  first  two  as  follows  : 

But  Man  is  Thy  most  awful  instrument 
In  working  out  a  pure  intent. 

It  was  enough,  and  the  conflict  in  a  reader's  mind  between 
the  enthusiasm  of  justice  and  the  sense  of  human  pity,  which 
is  only  a  finer  form  of  justice,  was  averted.  But  we  gladly 
remember  that  Wordsworth  was  capable  of  writing  the 
omitted  lines. 

1 1 .  Imagery  or  Sentiment  I?iconsiste?it  with  the  Unity  of  a 
Poem.  - —  An  excellent  example  of  Wordsworth's  severity  in 
dealing  with  his  own  work  is  seen  in  the  omission  of  the 
fine  stanza  with  which  "  Dion "  originally  opened.  The 
brightness,  purity,  and  grace  of  Dion's  soul  in  his  happier 
hours  were  typified  by  the  image  of  the  majestic  swan  oar- 
ing his  way  by  moonlight  on  the  lake  of  Locarno  ;  few  things 
more  admirable  are  to  be  found  in  Wordsworth's  poetry ; 
but  the  stanza  did  not  assist  the  poem  as  a  whole  ;  it  detained 
the  reader  too  long  from  the  subject;  and,,  as  Wordsworth 
says,  it  rather  precluded  than  prepared  for  the  due  effect  of 
the  allusion  to  the  genius  of  Plato.  It  was  degraded  to  a 
place  in  the  notes.  Some  of  Wordsworth's  friends  protested  ; 
but  he  remained  inexorable,  or  would  yield  only  so  far  as  to 
suggest  that  it  might  be  placed  as  a  separate  fragment  of 
the    descriptive    poetry    immediately    after    "  Dion."       The 


JN'HWDUCriON.  xcvii 

pathetic  poem  "Poor  Susan,"  in  the  earliest  form,  closed 
with  a  stanza  which  dangerously  approached  the  sentimental : 

Poor  Outcast  !  return  —  to  receive  thee  once  more 
The  house  of  thy  Father  will  open  its  door, 
And  thou  once  again  in  thy  plain  russet  gown, 
May'st  hear  the  thrush  sing  from  a  tree  of  its  own. 

We  are  as  thankful  as  Charles  Lamb  was  for  the  excision  of 
this  stanza.  We  are  not  called  on  to  speculate  with  respect 
to  poor  Susan's  future  ;  the  whole  virtue  of  the  poem 
resides  in  the  sudden  moment  of  reverie  of  a  country  maiden 
in  the  heart  of  a  great  city,  reverie  summoned  up  by  the 
song  of  a  caged  bird  ;  when  the  mist  and  the  river,  the  hill 
and  the  stream  fade  from  Susan's  eyes,  and  all  the  colours 
have  passed  away,  the  incident  has  closed,  and  there  the 
poem  must  end. 

12.  The  Vague  and  Inexact  made  Vivid  or  Precise.  —  Many 
changes  are  of  this  character,  and  the  gain  is  often  consid- 
erable. Thus  in  "  Michael,"  the  old  shepherd,  engaged  in 
shearing,  sits,  in  the  original  text,  "  with  sheep  before  him  " 
under  "  the  large  old  oak  "  near  his  door  ;  in  the  edition  of 
1836  he  sits  "  with  a  fettered  sheep  before  him  stretched  " 
under  the  large  old  oak  that  "  stood  single  "  near  his  door. 
In  "  Nutting,"  the  boy,  before  arriving  at  the  hazel  nook,  in 
the  text  of  1800,  forces  his  way  "  among  the  woods,  and 
o'er  the  pathless  rocks  "  ;  in  1836  — 

O'er  pathless  rocks, 
Througli  beds  of  matted  fern,  and  tangled  thicket. 

In  "  Stanzas  written  in  my  pocket  copy  of  Thomson's 
'  Castle  of  Indolence'"  the  beetle  was  described  in  18 15 
"  with  his  radiance  manifold";  in  1827  "The  beetle  pano- 
plied in  gems  and  gold."  The  Leech-gatherer  in  1807  props 
upon  the  staff  his  "body,  limbs,  and  face";  in  1836  the  eye 


xcviii  INTRODUCTION. 

travels  up  from  the  ground,  seeing  first  the  limbs,   then  the 
body,  and  then  dwells  upon  the  old  man's  pale  face  : 
Himself  he  propped,  limbs,  body,  and  pale  face, 

—  the  idea  of  a  pallid  face  being  recollected  from  a  stanza 
never  printed  (but  which  is  found  in  a  manuscript  letter  from 
Coleridge  to  Sir  George  Beaumont);  in  which  Wordsworth 
had  written  "  His  face  look'd  pale  as  if  it  had  grown  fair." 
One  more  example  out  of  many  may  suffice  :  in  the  sonnet 
"  September  i,  1802  "  which  describes  the  dejected  white- 
robed  Negro,  seen  on  the  deck  of  a  ship  that  bore  Words- 
worth from  Calais  to  Dover^  the  closing  lines  of  the  earliest 
version  (in  "The  Morning  Post,"   Feb.   11,   1803)  were   as 

follows  : 

She  was  a  Negro  woman  out  of  France 
Rejected  like  all  others  of  that  race. 
Not  one  of  whom  may  now  find  footing  there  ; 
What  is  the  meaning  of  this  Ordinance  ? 
Dishonoured  Despots,  tell  us  if  ye  dare. 

After  a  series  of  alterations,  the  lines  —  contrasting  the 
woman's  languor  of  despair  with  the  native  brilliance  of 
her  eyes  —  became  the  following  : 

Yet  still  her  eyes  retained  their  tropic  fire, 
That,  burning  independent  of  her  mind. 
Joined  with  the  lustre  of  her  rich  attire 
To  mock  the  Outcast  —  O  ye  Heavens,  be  kind  ! 
And  feel  thou.  Earth,  for  this  afflicted  Race  ! 

The  later  version  of  the  sonnet  is  indeed  a  new  creation. 
13,  14.   Neiv  Ideas  introduced ;  Emefided  Sequence  of  Ideas. 

—  The  "  Song  for  the  Wandering  Jew  "  at  first  consisted  of 
five  stanzas;  the  perpetual  Wanderer,  the  Jew,  thinks  of  other 
wanderers  of  earth,  of  air,  of  sea,  to  each  of  whom  the  rest 
is  at  some  time  granted  which  to  him  is  forever  denied; 
the  wandering  streams,  the  chamois,  the  raven,  the  sea-horse 
recur  to  his  mind.     The  streams  are  unconscious  wanderers 


INTRODUCTION.  xcix 

of  the  earth  ;  but  there  are  also  unconscious  wanderers  of 
air  —  the  clouds;  and  to  include  this  illustration  a  stanza 
was  added.  Earth,  air,  and  sea  have  also  their  animate 
wanderers  —  the  chamois,  the  sea-horse,  and  the  raven  ;  but 
the  surroundings  of  these  creatures  are  little  like  the  wil- 
derness of  a  world  trodden  by  the  afflicted  Jew.  What 
creature  roams  a  barren  waste  like  his  ?  Wordsworth  adds 
another  illustration  and  places  the  new  stanza  immediately 
before  that  in  which  the  mind  of  the  Jew  returns  upon  itself  ; 
the  ostrich  is  vagrant  over  the  desert  sands,  yet  even  the 
ostrich  has  a  place  of  rest,  when  at  night  she  broods  upon 
her  eggs.  It  may  be  noted  that  the  sequence  of  stanzas  in 
this  poem  was  changed  in  1827  and  again  in  1836,  a  kind 
of  alteration  of  which  there  are  several  examples,  the  most 
remarkable,  perhaps,  occurring  in  "  Ruth  "  and  "  Simon 
Lee  "  ;  it  may  be  entitled  Emended  sequefice  of  ideas.  Again, 
in  the  poem  "  To  the  Cuckoo,"  beginning  "  O  blithe  New- 
comer !  "  the  original  idea  of  the  second  stanza  was  that  the 
voice  of  the  bird  wanders  restlessly  : 

I  hear  thy  restless  shout  : 

From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass, 

About,  and  all  about  ! 

The  reader  of  the  notes  in  the  present  volume  can  trace 
the  interesting  series  of  changes,  extending  over  nearly  forty 
years,  by  which  the  stanza  attained  its  final  perfection.  It 
may  be  sufficient  here  to  call  attention  to  the  text  of  1827. 
Wordsworth  had  noticed  one  day  that  the  cuckoo's  voice 
heard  from  a  distant  tree  did  not  seem  louder  as  he 
approached  the  tree;  he  unfortunately  drifted  after  the  new 
observation,  and  from  1827  to  1843  the  text  stood  : 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass, 

Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear, 

That  seems  to  fill  the  whole  air's  space, 

As  loud  far  off  as  near. 


C  INTRODUCTION. 

Happily  he  rejected  a  line  which  might  not  verify  itself  at 
once  to  the  reader's  imagination,  and  the  final  text  of  these 
four  lines  is  gained  by  a  combination  of  the  readings  of  1807 
(11.  I  and  3),  1827  (1.  2),  and  1815  (1.  4). 

15.  Ideas  reversed. — This  is  of  rare  occurrence;  but  two 
examples,  one  of  slight  importance,  one  of  great  and  central 
significance,  may  be  noted.  In  the  "  Danish  Boy,"  a  frag- 
ment written  in  Germany  in  1799,  it  was  intended  to  give  in 
ballad  form  the  story  of  a  Danish  Prince,  who  had  fled  from 
battle,  and  was  murdered  by  the  inhabitant  of  a  cottage  in 
which  he  had  taken  refuge.  The  Spirit  of  the  youth  haunts 
the  valley  in  which  the  crime  had  been  committed  : 

A  piping  Shepherd  he  might  be, 
A  Herd-boy  of  the  wood. 

But  the  Apparition  was  that  of  a  prince,  and  it  is  seen  arrayed 
in  "  a  regal  vest  of  fur"  in  colour  "like  a  raven's  wing." 
How  then  could  it  be  mistaken  for  a  shepherd  or  a  herd-boy  .-' 
Perceiving  the  inconsistency,  Wordsworth  in  1802  altered 
the  lines  that  have  been  quoted  into  their  exact  opposite  : 

Nor  piping  shepherd  shall  he  be, 
Nor  herd-boy  of  the  wood. 

This  is  a  comparatively  trivial  emendation.  But  in  "  Laoda- 
mia"  the  very  motive  of  the  poem  is  affected  by  the  well- 
known  change  at  the  close.  In  the  earlier  versions  the 
"  impassioned  queen "  was  forgiven,  if  forgiveness  was 
needed,  because  she  had  loved  much  ;  her  death  was  almost 
an  euthanasia ;  and  she  was  dismissed  from  earth, 

to  gather  flowers 
Of  blissful  quiet  'mid  unfading  bowers. 

In  1827  her  passion  was  accounted  a  crime  against  reason, 
and  her  punishment  was  severe  and  perpetual  ^  in  1832  she 
was   still  punished,    but    her    sufferings    were    purgatorial ; 


INTRODUCTIOX.  ci 

finally  the  indictment  against  her  was  made  less  severe,  and 
we  are  left  with  a  hope  that  after  her  appointed  time  of  pain 
is  passed,  she  may  be  restored  to  sacred  communion  with 
her  husband.  This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  questions  of 
justice  or  of  mercy ;  the  reader  will  find  among  the  notes  to 
the  poem  Wordsworth's  statement  with  respect  to  his  change 
of  view. 

1 6.  Personification.  —  In  his  earliest  poems,  "An  Evening 
Walk "  and  "  Descriptive  Sketches,"  Wordsworth  does  not 
shrink  from  personifications  in  the  manner  of  his  poetical 
predecessors  of  the  eighteenth  century,  though  perhaps  less 
facile  than  some  of  them.  A  reaction  followed,  and  the 
poet  often  preferred  to  speak  of  inanimate  objects  as  inani- 
mate. But  gradually  he  came  to  feel  that  it  is  natural  for 
the  passions  to  transfer  their  own  life  to  objects  by  which 
they  are  moved,  and  that  the  rule  which  imposes  the  literal- 
ness  of  the  understanding  upon  the  feelings  is  an  arbitrary 
and  artificial  rule.  Accordingly  in  many  instances  in  the 
later  text  "  he  "  or  "  she  "  replaces  "  it,"  and  "  his  "  or  "  her  " 
replaces  "  its."  One  or  two  examples  sufficiently  illustrate 
this  class  of  alterations.     In  "  Michael,"  1.  233,  in  1827, 

the  sun  himself 
Has  scarcely  been  more  diligent  than  I. 

replaces  the  earlier  reading  "  the  sun  itself."  In  "  The 
Excursion,"  Book  iii,  522,  we  find  previous  to   1827  : 

See,  rooted  in  the  earth,  its  kindly  bed. 
The  unendangered  myrtle. 

In  1827  and  onwards,  "  her  kindly  bed."  The  soul,  the 
heart,  the  voice  in  earlier  editions  are  frequently  neuter  : 
in  later  editions,  feminine.  A  remarkable  example  is  in  the 
sonnet  addressed  to  Milton  ("  London,  1802  "): 

and  yet  thy  heart 
The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay.     (1820). 


Cii  INTRODUCTIOA^ 

Previously  "  itself  "  ;  and  the  change  was  made  although  if 
any  heart  was  masculine  Milton's  might  be  so  described. 
Similarly  in  "The  Excursion,"   Book  ii,    11.   411,  412    (the 

Solitary  speaking)  : 

my  voice 
Delivering  her  decisions.     (1827.) 

Previously  "'  its  decisions."  The  voice,  an  emanation  from 
the  soul,  is  feminine ;  but  the  touch,  a  passive  function  of 
the  body,  is  neuter.  An  interesting  example  occurs  in  "The 
Excursion,"  Book  viii,  11.  325-327  : 

And  even  the  touch,  so  exquisitely  poured 
Through  the  whole  body,  with  a  languid  will 
Performs  its  functions. 

So  stood  the  text  in  the  first,  and  so  it  stands  in  the  final 
edition.  But  in  edd.  1827-1832,  probably  observing  that  he 
had  attributed  "  will  "  to  the  touch,  Wordsworth  introduced 
the  reading  "her  functions."  In  1837  he  returned  to  the 
original  text,  and  this  notwithstanding  the  attribution  to  the 
touch  of  a  will. 

17.  Deepening  Religious  Feeling. — The  change  which  took 
place  in  Wordsworth's  feelings  may  be  understood  in  one  of 
its  aspects  if  we  set  side  by  side  the  words  from  the  Tin- 
tern  Abbey  poem  of  1798  : 

Knowing  that  Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her 

and  words  from  an  "  Evening  Voluntary  "  of  1834  : 

But  who  is  innocent .''     By  grace  divine, 
Not  otherwise,  O  Nature  !  we  are  thine. 

In  Wordsworth's  earlier  temper  there  was  something  of 
stoicism,  which  as  years  went  by  was  replaced  or  tempered 
by  Christian  faith.  Perhaps  the  most  striking  example  of 
this  class  of  alterations  will  be  found  at  the  close  of  the  story 


INTRODCCTIOX.  ciii 

of  Margaret  in  the  first  book  of  "The  Excursion."  The 
auditor  of  the  story  is  touched  with  sorrow ;  the  Wanderer, 
who  has  related  the  tale,  exhorts  him  to  check  all  excess  of 
vain  despondency  or  regret  : 

Be  wise  and  cheerful ;  and  no  longer  read 
The  forms  of  things  with  an  unworthy  eye. 

So  stood  the  passage  from  1814  to  1845  ;  in  the  latter  of 
these  years  the  lines  became  the  following  : 

Nor  more  \i.e.  of  sorrow]  would  she  have  craved  as  due  to  One 

Who,  in  her  worst  distress,  had  ofttimes  felt 

The  unbounded  might  of  prayer  ;  and  learned,  with  soul 

Fixed  on  the  Cross,  that  consolation  springs. 

From  sources  deeper  far  than  deepest  pain, 

For  the  meek  Sufferer.     Why  then  should  we  read 

The  forms  of  things  with  an  unworthy  eye  .■* 

The  Wanderer  proceeds  to  tell  how,  reading  aright  the  forms 
of  things,  he  recognized  in  all  the  emblems  of  desolation 
about  the  ruined  cottage  so  still  an  image  of  tranquillity  that 
transitory  sorrow  and  despair 

Appeared  an  idle  dream,  that  could  not  live 
Where  meditation  was. 

So  from  1814  to  1845.      ^^^  ^'^^  latter  year  : 

Appeared  an  idle  dream,  that  could  maintain, 
Nowhere,  dominion  o'er  the  enlightened  spirit 
Whose  meditative  sympathies  repose 
Upon  the  breast  of  faith. 

This  list  could  be  much  extended  ;  but  enough  has  been 
said  to  quicken  the  attention  of  the  student  of  Wordsworth. 
He  should  consider  for  himself  the  reason  of  each  emenda- 
tion ;  the  reason  is  seldom  very  obscure,  and  much  will  be 
learnt  from  such  research. 


INTRODUCTIOX. 


VII.     WORDSWORTH'S  PROSE  WORKS  AS  ILLUSTRATING 
HIS  POEMS. 

Wordsworth's  prose  writings  (which  Dr.  Grosart  has 
collected  into  three  volumes)  well  deserve  to  be  read  for 
their  own  sake  ;  but  they  are  also  of  importance  as  a  com- 
mentary on  his  poetical  work.  They  fall  into  four  chief 
divisions  :  First,  those  which  are  literary,  including  Words- 
worth's Prefaces,  his  essays  upon  Epitaphs,  the  "  Letter  to  a 
Friend  of  Robert  Burns,"  the  notes  on  his  own  poems  dic- 
tated in  1843  to  Isabella  Fen  wick,  and  certain  letters  to 
various  correspondents;  secondly,  letters  and  other  writings 
dealing  with  education,  with  which  may  be  connected  the 
admirable  advice  to  the  young,  published  in  "  The  Friend  " 
as  a  reply  to  "  Mathetes  "  (John  Wilson),  who  had  sought  for 
counsel  in  the  mental  and  moral  difficulties  of  ardent  and 
aspiring  youth  ;  thirdly,  writings  which  may  be  called  by  a 
word  of  Wordsworth's  employment  "  loco-descriptive,"  in 
particular  his  "'  Guide  through  the  District  of  the  Lakes," 
and  the  two  letters  on  the  Kendal  and  Windermere  Rail- 
way ;  last,  political  and  social  writings,  —  the  "  Apology  for 
the  French  Revolution,"  the  pamphlet  suggested  by  the 
Convention  of  Cintra,  the  "  Two  Addresses  to  the  Free- 
holders of  Westmoreland,"  i8i8,'a  posthumous  paper  on  the 
Catholic  Relief  Bill,  1829,  and  the  long  note  on  Legislation 
for  the  Poor,  the  Working  Classes,  and  the  Church  Establish- 
ment, which  appeared  in  1835  ^^  a  Postscript  to  "  Yarrow 
Revisited  and  Other  Poems." 

Wordsworth's  general  views  on  the  nature  of  poetry,  on 
truth  of  language,  and  on  the  functions  of  metre  will  be  found 
in  the  "'  Preface  to  the  Lyrical  Ballads  "  and  the  appendix 
on  "Poetic  Diction,"  which  first  appeared  in  1802.  If  we 
are  to  define  the  end  or  object  of  poetry,  it  may  be  stated  as 


INTRO  DCCTIOX.  CV 

"  the  production  of  excitement  in  co-existence  with  an  over- 
balance of  pleasure  "  ;  that  is  to  say,  its  end  is  rather  emo- 
tional than  intellectual ;  the  truths  of  science,  if  once  taken 
into  the  general  consciousness  of  humanity,  and  dwelling 
there  as  the  possession  of  enjoying  and  suffering  men,  may 
become  genuine  material  or  sources  of  song  :  "  Poetry  is  the 
breath  and  finer  spirit  of  all  knowledge,  it  is  the  impas- 
sioned expression  which  is  in  the  countenance  of  all  science  . 
.  .  the  poet  binds  together  by  passion  and  knowledge  the 
vast  empire  of  human  society,  as  it  is  spread  over  the  whole 
earth,  and  over  all  time."  But  the  poet  does  not  create 
with  the  deliberate  end  in  view  of  moving  his  fellows  ;  he 
creates  because  he  is  prompted  to  utterance  by  his  own  feel- 
ings ;  not,  however,  by  feelings  in  their  crude  form,  when 
they  tend  to  action,  or  to  some  realization  of  themselves  in  the 
real  world.  Poetry  is  "  the  spontaneous  overflow  of  powerful 
feelings,"  but  its  origin  is  from  those  feelings  "  recollected 
in  tranquillity  ;  the  emotion  is  contemplated  till,  by  a  species 
of  reaction,  the  tranquillity  gradually  disappears,  and  an 
emotion,  kindred  to  that  which  was  before  the  subject  of 
contemplation,  is  gradually  produced,  and  does  itself  actu- 
ally exist  in  the  mind."  No  description  of  Wordsworth's 
own  method  of  composition  could  be  more  accurate.  Pas- 
sion is  idealized  before  it  is  expressed ;  and  if  the  passion 
be  of  a  tragic  or  pathetic  kind  the  pain  is  subdued  and  an 
overbalance  of  pleasure  is  secured  partly  through  the  influ- 
ence of  metre,  which  tends  to  restrain  as  well  as  excite  emo- 
tion, which  divests  language,  in  a  certain  degree,  of  its 
reality,  and  which  communicates  a  series  of  small  but  con- 
tinual and  regular  impulses  of  pleasurable  surprise. 

The  first  collected  edition  of  Wordsworth's  poems  —  that 
of  1815 — contained  two  essays  on  his  art;  the  Preface, 
which  deals  with  the  classification  of  his  poems,  and  espe- 
cially attempts  to  determine  the  difference  between  Fancy 


Cvi  INTRODUCTIOX. 

and  Imagination  ;  and  the  Essay  supplementary  to  the  Pref- 
ace, which  treats  of  poetry  as  a  study,  points  out  the  quali- 
fications which  must  exist  before  the  decisions  of  a  critic 
can  be  of  absolute  value,  rapidly  surveys  the  poetical  litera- 
ture of  England  during  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  cen- 
turies, and  from  that  survey  draws  the  conclusion  that  every 
author,  as  far  as  he  is  great  and  at  the  same  time  original, 
has  had  the  task  of  creating  the  taste  by  which  he  is  to  be 
enjoyed.  The  Preface,  while  discussing  general  principles, 
is  also  in  the  strictest  sense  a  comment  by  Wordsworth  upon 
his  own  work  as  a  poet.  Fancy,  according  to  Wordsworth,  is 
an  aggregative  and  associative  power,  but  the  materials  which 
it  brings  together  and  connects  may  be  insusceptible  of 
change  ;  and  where  they  admit  of  modification  it  is  enough, 
for  the  purposes  of  Fancy,  if  the  modification  be  slight, 
limited,  and  evanescent.  Imagination  also  aggregates  and 
associates  ;  but  the  materials  which  it  demands  are  plastic, 
pliant,  indefinite.  It  impresses,  according  to  fixed  laws,  the 
results  of  processes  of  the  mind  upon  external  objects  ;  Mil- 
ton's fleet  far  off  at  sea  "  hangs  in  the  clouds  "^  the  voice  of 
Wordsworth's  stock-dove  is  "  buried  among  trees."  Proper- 
ties are  conferred  upon  the  object  by  Imagination,  or  acutal 
properties  are  abstracted,  until  the  object  can  react  upon 
the  mind,  which  has  performed  the  process,  like  a  new  exist- 
ence. The  old  Leech-gatherer  is  compared  to  a  huge  stone 
'*  couched  upon  the  bald  top  of  an  eminence  "  ;  but  the 
stone  resembles  a  sea-beast  sunning  itself  on  a  shelf  of  rock  ; 
the  stone  is  endowed  with  something  of  the  power  of  life  to 
approximate  it  to  the  sea-beast,  and  the  sea-beast  stripped 
of  its  vital  qualities  to  assimilate  it  to  the  stone  ;  which  inter- 
mediate image  is  thus  treated  for  the  purpose  of  bringing 
the  original  image,  that  of  the  stone,  to  a  nearer  resemblance 
to  the  figure  and  condition  of  the  aged  Man,  who  is  divested 
of  so  much  of  the  indications  of  life  and  motion  as  to  bring 


INTKODUCTIOX.  cvii 

him  to  the  point  where  the  two  objects  unite  and  coalesce 
in  just  comparison.  Thus  Imagination  modifies,  confers, 
abstracts ;  but  it  also  creates.  It  creates  by  innumerable 
processes,  as,  for  example,  by  consolidating  numbers  into 
unity,  and  again  by  dissolving  and  separating  unity  into  num- 
ber. Milton's  Messiah  goes  forth  to  expel  the  rebel  angels 
"  attended  by  ten  thousand  thousand  Saints " ;  but  the 
retinue  of  Saints,  and  the  Person  of  the  Messiah  himself, 
are  lost  almost  and  merged  in  the  splendour  of  an  indefinite 
abstraction  — ""  Far  off  his  coming  shone." 

Wordsworth's  "  Guide  through  the  District  of  the  Lakes  " 
was  designed  less  as  a  series  of  directions  for  the  tourist 
(though  these  are  not  neglected)  than  as  a  companion  for 
the  minds  of  persons  interested  in  landscape.  The  series 
of  books  on  English  landscape  by  Gilpin  have  something  in 
common  with  Wordsworth's  "  Guide,"  but  Gilpin  viewed 
the  features  of  natural  beauty  in  special  connection  with 
the  pictorial  art,  and  considered  landscape  as  lending  itself 
to,  or  as  capable  of  modification  for,  the  purposes  of  the 
painter.  Wordsworth's  study  may  be  described  as  an 
analysis  of  the  several  elements  which  make  up  the  scenery 
of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  and,  as  such,  it  is  in  fact 
an  analysis  of  the  material  which  inspired  much  of  his  poetry. 
Wordsworth's  poetry,  however,  is  seldom  merely  descriptive  ; 
it  is  never  literal  in  its  descriptions.  Scott,  said  Words- 
worth, "  went  out  with  his  pencil  and  note-book  and  jotted 
down  whatever  struck  him  most —  a  river  rippling  over  the 
sands,  a  ruined  tower  on  a  rock  above  it,  a  promontory,  and 
a  mountain  ash  waving  its  red  berries.  He  went  home  and 
wove  the  whole  together  into  a  poetical  description."  "  After 
a  pause,"  writes  Mr.  Aubrey  de  Vere,  "  Wordsworth  resumed 
with  a  flashing  eye  and  impassioned  voice,  '  But  Nature  does 
not  permit  an  inventory  to  be  made  of  her  charms  !  He 
should  have  left  his  pencil  and  note-book  at  home  ;  fixed  his 


cviii  introduction: 

eye,  as  he  walked,  with  a  reverent  attention  on  all  that  sur- 
rounded him,  and  taken  all  into  a  heart  that  can  understand 
and  enjoy.' "  The  topographical  study  of  Wordsworth's 
poetry,  the  identification  of  precise  localities,  is  a  matter  of 
curiosity,  which  has  an  interest  of  its  own,  and  especially  as 
enhancing  the  worth  of  certain  places  through  their  associa- 
tion with  the  poet's  work ;  but  it  adds  little  to  our  sense 
of  the  truth  of  what  he  has  written,  except  as  showing  that 
such  truth  is  not  literal  but  ideal.  In  the  literal  details  of 
landscape  much  is  accidental ;  Wordsworth  discovers  truth 
which  is  general  and  abiding.  No  poet  is  more  veracious 
than  he  ;  but  the  body  of  landscape  is  chiefly  important  to 
him  as  expressing  its  spirit.  His  yew-trees  of  Borrowdale 
are  drawn  with  his  eye  upon  the  object  : 

Huge  trunks  !  and  each  particular  trunk  a  growth 
Of  intertwisted  fibres  serpentine 
Up-coihng,  and  inveterately  convolved. 

We  see  their  grassless  floor  of  red-brown  hue,  the  sable  roof 
of  boughs,  the  unrejoicing  berries  ;  but  it  is  the  genius  of 
the  yew-tree,  its  spiritual  power,  that  chiefly  interests  Words- 
worth's imagination  ;  the  dark  grove  is 

Not  uninformed  with  Phantasy,  and  looks 
That  threaten  the  profane  ; 

and,  except  to  one  who  visits  the  spot,  it  matters  little  what 
position  on  the  globe  was  occupied  until  the  great  storm  of 
1883  by  these  solemn  denizens  of  the  world  of  imagination. 
But  the  elements  which  make  up  the  characteristic  land- 
scape of  the  Lakes  deserve,  like  the  character  of  the  people 
of  the  district,  the  closest  study  by  a  lover  of  Wordsworth's 
poetry ;  and  his  own  analysis  of  its  beauty  is  the  best  possi- 
ble aid  to  that  study.  The  aspect  of  the  country  as  formed 
by  nature  is  first  investigated ;  secondly,  that  aspect  as 
affected  by  the  inhabitants  ;  and  thirdly,  Wordsworth  notices 


INTRODUCTION.  cix 

the  changes  that  had  recently  taken  place  in  the  district,  and 
suggests  certain  "  rules  of  taste  for  preventing  their  bad 
effects."  Having  given  a  general  topographical  view  of  the 
locality,  —  a  number  of  valleys  diverging  from  a  point  midway 
between  Great  Gavel  and  Scawfell,  like  spokes  from  the  nave 
of  a  wheel,  the  ridges  that  enclose  these  valleys  rising  towards 
the  centre,  and  the  mountains  climbing  in  stages  above  one 
another, — Wordsworth  proceeds  with  his  survey  in  detail. 
The  forms,  the  surface,  the  colours  of  the  mountains  are  inves- 
tigated ;  the  forms  endlessly  diversified,  abrupt  and  precipi- 
tous, or  soft  and  elegant,  the  surface,  turf  rendered  rich  and 
green  by  the  moisture  of  the  climate,  or,  in  the  rocky  parts, 
schist,  encrusted  with  lichens,  bluish  or  hoary  gray ;  ferns 
turning  lemon-coloured  in  October,  or  passing  from  orange 
to  russet-brown  ;  the  apparent  forms  of  all  things  often  magi- 
cally changed  by  the  clouds  and  vapours  that  float  around 
them  ;  in  winter  hoar-frost  and  snow,  with  all  the  varieties 
they  create.  A  study  follows  of  the  valleys,  the  lakes,  their 
islands,  their  winged,  inhabitants  or  visitors,  the  tarns,  the 
woods,  the  atmospheric  effects  ;  nothing  essential  is  omitted  ; 
nothing  without  some  significance  is  included.  The  little 
volume  is  indeed  a  masterpiece  in  its  kind  ;  a  great  scholar's 
primer  for  the  study  of  natural  beauty.  And  now  and  again 
will  be  found  a  passage  which  not  merely  indirectly  inter- 
prets certain  general  characteristics  of  Wordsworth's  poetry, 
but  serves  as  the  writer's  comment  on  some  particular  poem. 
Thus,  the  idea  of  the  "Address  to  Kilchurn  Castle  "  is  ren- 
dered into  prose  as  follows  :  "  It  is,  I  grant,  easy  to  con- 
ceive that  an  ancient  castellated  building,  hanging  over  a 
precipice  or  raised  upon  an  island  or  the  peninsula  of  a  lake, 
like  that  of  Kilchurn  Castle,  upon  Loch  Awe,  may  not  want, 
whether  deserted  or  inhabited,  sufficient  majesty  to  preside 
for  a  moment  in  the  spectator's  thoughts  over  the  high 
mountains  among  which  it  is  embosomed  ;  but  its  titles  are 


ex  INTRODUCTION. 

from  antiquity  —  a  power  readily  submitted  to  upon  occa- 
sion as  the  vicegerent  of  Nature  :  it  is  respected  as  having 
owed  its  existence  to  the  necessities  of  things,  as  a  monu- 
ment of  security  in  times  of  disturbance  and  danger  long 
passed  away,  —  as  a  record  of  the  pomp  and  violence  of 
passion,  and  a  symbol  of  the  wisdom  of  law  ;  it  bears  a 
countenance  of  authority,  which  is  not  impaired  by  decay." 
Or  compare  the  sonnet  beginning  with  the  words  "  Well 
may'st  thou  halt,"  in  which  the  "  lovely  Cottage,  in  its 
guardian  nook "  is  spoken  of  as  a  "  precious  leaf  "  in  the 
book  of  Nature,  with  the  following  from  Wordsworth's 
"  Guide  "  :  "  These  humble  dwellings  remind  the  contem- 
plative spectator  of  a  production  of  Nature,  and  may  (using 
a  strong  expression)  rather  be  said  to  have  grown  than  to 
have  been  erected  ;  to  have  risen,  by  an  instinct  of  their 
own,  out  of  the  native  rock,  so  little  is  there  in  them  of 
formality,  such  is  their  wildness  and  beauty."  Or,  again, 
compare  the  lines  from  "  Fidelity  "  — 

The  crags  repeat  the  raven's  croak 
In  symphony  austere. 

with  words  from  the  "  Guide  "  :  "  The  waters  were  agitated ; 
and  the  iron  tone  of  the  raven's  voice,  which  strikes  upon 
the  ear  at  all  times  as  the  more  dolorous  from  its  regularity, 
was  in  fine  keeping  with  the  wild  scene  before  our  eyes."  ^ 

Wordsworth's  political  writings  may  be  said  to  represent 
three  periods  in  the  history  of  his  mind.  The  "  Apology  for 
the  French  Revolution  "  expresses  his  youthful  ardour  for 
what  seemed  the  cause  of  liberty  in  France.  The  same 
temper  of  mind  and  the  same  opinions  are  reflected  in  cer- 
tain passages  of  "  Descriptive  Sketches."     His  mature  con- 

1  Note  also  the  passage  of  the  "  Guide  "  which  speaks  of  Carver's 
description  of  floating  in  his  boat  in  the  middle  of  Lake  Erie  or  Onta- 
rio, and  compare  the  poem  "  To  H.  C." 


INTRODUCTION.  Cxi 

victions  with  respect  to  national  well-being,  and  the  true 
spirit  in  which  a  war  of  freedom  should  be  conducted,  are 
uttered  in  the  pamphlet  on  "  The  Convention  of  Cintra." 
It  constitutes  by  far  the  most  instructive  comment  in  exist- 
ence upon  the  political  sonnets.  His  other  prose  writings 
on  public  matters  represent  his  later  temper  of  conservatism, 
allied  with  what  may  be  described  as  the  spirit  of  conserva- 
tive reform,  and  they  correspond  with  the  mood  of  mind  and 
the  regulative  thoughts  expressed  in  many  poems  of  his  elder 
years.  From  first  to  last  his  veneration  for  man  as  man 
and  his  deep  interest  in  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the  people 
were  predominant.  Their  interests  never  ceased  to  be  dear 
to  his  heart ;  he  only  changed  his  beliefs  as  to  the  best  mode 
of  doing  them  service.  In  the  Postscript  of  1835  to  "  Yar- 
row Revisited  "  he  pleads  against  the  laissez  /aire  policy  of 
utilitarian  doctrinaires;  he  maintains  that  all  persons,  whether 
feeble  and  old  or  able-bodied,  who  cannot  find  employment 
or  procure  wages  sufficient  to  support  the  body  in  health 
and  strength,  are  entitled  to  state  support ;  he  even  dares  to 
urge  a  right  of  nature ;  he  maintains  that  a  Christian  gov- 
ernment should  stand  in  loco  parentis  towards  all  its  subjects, 
and  that  the  claim  of  the  state  to  allegiance  involves  the 
duty  of  parental  protection  ;  and  he  was  among  the  early 
advocates  of  cooperative  industries,  in  which  the  workers 
possess  a  share  of  the  capital. 

The  most  spirit-stirring  of  his  political  writings  is  undoubt- 
edly the  Convention  of  Cintra  pamphlet.  Wordsworth's 
point  of  view  is  identical  with  that  maintained  in  the  son- 
nets which  treat  of  the  affairs  of  Spain  and  Portugal  ;  the 
same  thoughts  are  here  expressed  in  prose,  animated  by  the 
same  enthusiasm  and  bearing  as  its  burden  the  same  moral 
wisdom.  Removed  from  petty  and  conflicting  self-interests, 
and  from  factions  which  force  men  astray  against  their  wills, 
placed  among  the  enduring,  free,  and  passionate  presences 


cxii  INTKODUCrJON. 

of  nature,  Wordsworth  could  look  into  the  life  of  things  ; 
could  submit  himself  to  the  vast  impalpable  motives  of  jus- 
tice, and  of  the  deep  fraternity  of  nations  ;  could  pursue 
those  trains  of  reasoning  and  meditation  which  originate 
from  and  are  addressed  to  the  universal  spirit  of  man.  His 
purpose  was  not  merely,  with  the  energy  of  a  wide-ranging 
intellect,  to  use  truth  as  a  powerful  tool  in  the  hand,  but  to 
"  infuse  truth  as  a  vital  fluid  in  the  heart."  It  was  not 
knowledge  merely  which  he  wished  to  convey ;  but  know- 
ledge animated  by  the  breath  and  life  of  appropriate  feeling  ; 
it  was  not  wisdom  alone  as  a  possession,  but  wisdom  as  a 
power.^ 

Two  or  three  examples  of  parallels  between  the  sonnets 
and  the  pamphlet  may  suffice.  The  majestic  sonnet  begin- 
ning "'  The  power  of  Armies  is  a  visible  thing  "  asserts  that 
the  power  of  a  brave  and  indignant  People  is  superior  to 
the  mechanism  of  armies,  as  being  untameable  and  incapa- 
ble of  circumscription  ;  it  is  like  the  wind  upon  the  wing  or 
like  the  wind  sleeping  "  within  its  awful  caves  "  ;  it  springs 
indigenous,  like  the  subtle  element  of  waters  rising  from 
the  soil.  In  the  pamphlet  we  read  :  "A  military  spirit  there 
should  be,  and  a  military  action,  not  confined  like  an  ordinary 
river  in  one  channel,  but  spreading  like  the  Nile  over  the 
whole  face  of  the  land.  ...  In  the  moral  virtues  and  quali- 
ties of  passion  which  belong  to  a  people  must  the  ultimate 
salvation  of  a  people  be  sought  for.  .  .  .  The  Spaniards 
must  now  be  taught  that  their  strength  chiefly  lies  in  moral 
qualities,  more  silent  in  their  operation,  more  permanent  in 
their  nature;  in  the  virtues  of  perseverance,  constancy,  for- 
titude, and  watchfulness,  in  a  long  memory  and  a  quick 
feeling,  to  rise  upon  a  favourable  summons,  a  texture  of  life 

^  I  have  here  made  use  of  a  few  sentences  from  my  article  on 
"Wordsworth's  Prose  Works"  in  "Studies  on  Literature,  1789- 
1877." 


IXTRODUCTION.  cxiii 

which,  though  cut  through  (as  hath  been  feigned  of  the 
bodies  of  the  Angelsj,  unites  again."  The  sonnet  '  Indig- 
nation of  a  High-minded  Spaniard "  expresses  the  wrath 
and  horror  caused,  not  by  the  injuries  of  the  French,  but  by 
the  tyrant's  specious  promises  of  future  benefit.  Such  "blas- 
phemies "  are  described  by  the  pamphlet  as  a  "warfare  against 
the  conscience  and  the  reason  "  —  "  The  Spaniards  groan 
less  over  the  blood  which  has  been  shed  than  over  the  arro- 
gant assumptions  of  beneficence  made  by  him  from  whose 
order  that  blood  had  flowed.  .  .  .  Through  the  terrors  of  the 
Supreme  Ruler  of  things,  as  set  forth  by  works  of  destruc- 
tion and  ruin,  we  see  but  darkly  ;  we  may  reverence  the  chas- 
tisement, may  fear  it  with  awe,  but  it  is  not  natural  to  incline 
towards  it  in  love  ;  moreover,  devastation  passes  away  —  a 
perishing  power  among  things  that  perish  ;  whereas,  to  found 
and  to  build,  to  create  and  to  institute,  to  bless  through 
blessing,  this  has  to  do  with  objects  where  we  trust  we  can 
see  clearly,  —  it  reminds  us  of  what  we  love,  —  it  aims  at 
permanence."  The  "blasphemies"  of  the  French  lay  in 
the  assumption  of  this  divine  power  of  "  blessing."  "  Say, 
what  is  Honour  ?  "  asks  Wordsworth  in  the  sonnet ;  and  he 
answers : 

'T  is  the  finest  sense 

Oi  justice  which  the  human  mind  can  frame, 

Intent  each  lurking  frailty  to  disclaim, 

And  guard  the  way  of  life  from  all  offence 

Suffered  or  done. 

And  the  pamphlet :  "  For  national  independence  and  liberty, 
and  that  honour  by  which  these  and  other  blessings  are  to 
be  preserved,  honour  —  which  is  no  other  than  the  most  ele- 
vated and  pure  conception  of  justice  which  can  be  formed  — 
these  are  more  precious  than  life." 

The  subject  would  admit  of  much  fuller  treatment,  but 
enough  has  been  said  to  indicate  the  importance  of  the  study 


cxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

of  Wordsworth's  prose  works  as  subsidiary  to  what  he  has 
written  in  verse. 

The  reader  who  desires  to  study  Wordsworth's  life  in 
detail  may  be  directed  to  the  Memoirs  by  Christopher  Words- 
worth and  the  Life  by  Professor  Knight.  Of  short  biogra- 
phies the  best  is  that  by  Mr.  Myers  in  the  English  Men  of 
Letters  series.  Of  the  earlier  criticisms  the  most  important 
are  that  of  Coleridge  in  '"  Biographia  Literaria,"  the  articles 
of  Henry  Taylor  and  those  of  De  Quincey ;  the  most  valu- 
able of  recent  date  are  those  of  Principal  Shairp  ('"  Studies 
in  Poetry  and  Philosophy,"  "  Aspects  of  Poetry,"  and 
"Poetic  Interpretation  of  Nature"),  Matthew  Arnold  (Intro- 
duction to  Golden  Treasury  Selections),  R.  H.  Hutton 
("  Essays  Theological  and  Literary "),  Aubrey  de  Vere 
("'  Essays,  Chiefly  on  Poetry  "),  Leslie  Stephen  ("'  Hours  in 
a  Library,"  No.  XHI),  Walter  Pater  ("Appreciations"),  Dean 
Church  (Ward's  English  Poets,  vol.  iv),  Edward  Caird 
(Essays  on  Literature  and  Philosophy).  The  Wordsworth 
Society  issued  in  its  Transactions  some  papers  of  consider- 
able value.  A  bibliography  of  Wordsworth's  writings  is  given 
in  the  Aldine  edition  of  his  poetical  works,  vol.  vii. 


A  BIBLIOGRAPHICAL   NOTE. 


[For  further  details  see  the  Aldine  edition  of  Wordsworth,  Vol.  VII.] 


1.  An  Evening  Walk.     An  Epistle  in  Verse.     4to.     i793- 

2.  Descriptive  Sketches  in  Verse.     4to.     1793- 

3.  Lyrical  Ballads,  with  a  few  other  Poems.     8vo.     179S. 

4.  Lyrical  Ballads,  with  other  I'oenis,  in  two  volumes.     8vo.      iSoo. 

5.  Lyrical  Ballads,  with  Pastoral  and  other  Poems,  in  two  volumes. 

8vo.     1802. 

6.  Lyrical  Ballads,  with   Pastoral  and  other  Poems,  in  two  volumes. 

8vo.     1805. 

7.  Poeixis,  in  two  volumes.     i2mo.     1807. 

8.  Concerning  the  Relations  of  Great   Britain,  Spain,  and   Portugal 

to  each  other  and  to  the  common  Enemy,  at  this  crisis ;  and 
specifically  as  affected  by  the  Convention  of  Cintra.    8vo.     1809. 

9.  The  Excursion.     4to.     18 14. 

10.  Poems  [first  collected  edition],  two  volumes.     8vo.     18 15. 

11.  The  White  Doe  of  Rylstone  ;  or,  the  Fate  of  the  Nortons.     4to. 

1815. 

12.  A  Letter  to  a  Friend  of  Robert  Burns.     8vo.     1S16. 

13.  Thanksgiving  Ode,  January  18,  1816,  with  other  short  pieces.    Svo. 

1816. 

14.  Two  Addresses  to  the  Freeholders  of  Westmoreland.     8vo.     18 18. 

15.  Peter  Bell,  a  Tale  in  Verse.     Svo.     1819.     2d  ed.,  1819. 

16.  The  W^aggoner,  a  Poem,  to  which  are  added  Sonnets.     8vo.     1819. 

17.  The  River  Duddon,  a  series  of  Sonnets  ;  Vandracour  and  Julia;  and 

other  Poems,  to  which  is  annexed  a  topographical  description  of 
the  Country  of  the  Lakes.  8vo.  1820.  [The  Topographical 
Description  is  here  enlarged  from  W^ordsworth's  anonymous 
Introduction  to  Wilkinson's  "  Select  Views,"   1810.] 

18.  The  Miscellaneous  Poems  of  William  Wordsworth,  in  four  volumes. 

i2mo.     1820. 

19.  The  Excursion  [2d  ed.].     8vo.     1820. 

20.  Memorials  of  a  Tour  on  the  Continent.     Svo.     1822. 


cxvi  ■'    BIBLIOGRAl'lIJCAL    NOTK. 

21.  Ecclesiastical  Sketches.     8vo.     1822. 

22.  A  Description  of  the  Scenery  of  the  Lakes  [first  separate  edition]. 

i2mo.     1S22.     4th  ed.,  1823.     5th  ed.,  1835. 

23.  'J"he   Poetical  Works    of    William    Wordsworth,  in    five    volumes. 

i2mo.  1827.  [ '  The  Kxcursion  "  now  first  included  in  a  col- 
lected edition.] 

24.  The  Poetical  Works  of  William   Wordsworth.     I'aris,  Galignani. 

Svo.     1S28. 

25.  Selections  froni  the  Poems  of  William  Wordsworth,  Esq.     Chiefly 

for  the  use  of  schools  and  young  persons.  I2m6.  183  r.  2d  ed., 
1834. 

26.  The  Poetical    Works  of    William   \\'ordsworth,  in  four  volumes. 

Svo.     1832. 

27.  Lines  written  after  the  death  of  Charles  Lamb.     8vo.     [No  title  or 

date;  privately  printed  1835  or  1836.] 

28.  Yarrow  Revisited,  and  other  Poems.     i2mo.     1835.     2d  ed.,  1836. 

3d  ed.,  1839. 

29.  The  Excursion.     8vo.     1836. 

30.  The  Poetical  Works  of  William  Wordsworth,  in  six  volumes.    8vo. 

1836-1837.  [First  stereotyped  edition;  reprinted  1840,  1841, 
1842,  1843,  1846,  1849.] 

31.  The  Sonnets  of  William  Wordsworth.     Svo.     1838. 

32.  Poems,  Chiefly  of    I^arly  and   Late  Years.     Svo.     1842.     [Added 

also  as  a  seventh  volume  to  the  collected  edition  of  Poetical 
Works.] 

33.  Select  Pieces  from   the    Poems  of    William   Wordsworth.     i2mo. 

1843. 

34.  Lines    on    Grace    Darling.     i2mo.      [No    date,    privately    printed, 

1843-] 

35.  Kendal  and  Windermere  Railway.     Two  letters.     i2mo.     1844  or 

early  in  1845. 

36.  The  Poems  of  William  Wordsworth  [one  volume  edition].      Royal 

Svo.     1S45. 

37.  Ode,  performed  in  the  Senate-House,  Cambridge.    4to.    Cambridge, 

1847.  [Also  published  as  "Ode.  On  the  Installation  of  His 
Royal  Highness  Prince  Albert  as  Chancellor  of  the  University 
of  Cambridge."     London,  no  date,  but  doubtless  1S47.] 

38.  The  Poetical   Works    of    William    Wordsworth,   in    six    volumes. 

i2mo.     1849-1850. 

39.  The  Prelude.     Svo.     1850.     [Posthumous  publication.] 

40.  The  Recluse.     Part  First,  Book  First.     Svo.     18S8. 


A    BIBLIOGRAPHICAL    XOTK.  cxvii 

l)t  recent  editions  that  by  Professor  Knight  and  my  own  edition  in 
Hell's  "  Aldine  F^dition  of  the  Hritish  Poets  "  are  the  most 
important. 

Wordsworth's  Prose  Works  were  collected  in  three  volumes  by  Dr. 
Grosart  in   1876. 

The  standard  biographies  <->f  ^Vords\vorth  are  (i)  that  by  his  ne]>hew 
Christopher  Wordsworth,  (2)  that  by  J^rofessor  Knight.  (_)f 
short  lives  the  best  is  that  of  Mr.  Myers  in  the  ''English  Men 
of  Letters  "  series. 

There  are  several  volumes  of  Selections,  including  those  by  Henry 
Reed,  Matthew  Arnold,  F.  T.  Palgrave,  Professor  Knight,  and 
other  members  of  the  Wordsworth  Society,  C.  K.  Shorter,  W.  J. 
Rolfe,  A.  J.  George.  Mr.  George  has  also  edited  "  The  Prelude  " 
and  "  Wordsworth's  Prefaces  and  Essays  on  Poetry." 

For  criticism  see  Coleridge's  "  Biographia  Literaria,"  Henry  Taylor's 
"  Notes  from  Books,"  John  Wilson's  "  Essays,  Critical,  etc.." 
De  Quincey's  "Recollections  of  Wordsworth"  and  "  W^ords- 
worth's  Poetry,"  G.  Brimley's  "Essays,"  Eowell's  "Among  my 
Books,"  David  Masson's  "  Wordsworth,  Shelley,  Keats,  etc.," 
J.  C.  Shairp's  "  Studies  in  Poetry  and  Philosophy  "  and  "  Aspects 
of  Poetry,"  Leslie  Stephen's  "  Hours  in  a  Library,  Third  Series,'" 
R.  H.  Hutton's  "Essays,  Theological  and  Literary,"  Stopford 
Brooke's  "Theology  in  the  English  Poets,"  E.  l)owden"s 
"  Studies  in  Literature  "  and  "  Transcripts  and  Studies,"  Matthew 
Arnold's  Preface  to  his  volume  of  Selections,  W'.  Bagehot's 
"  Literary  Studies,"  Dean  Church's  "  Dante  and  Other  F^ssays," 
FL  N.  Hudson's  "  Studies  in  Wordsworth,"  A.  de  Vere's  "  Essays. 
Chielly  on  Poetry,"  "  La  Jeunesse  de  William  Wordsworth,"  by 
fimile  Legouis.  Of  these  the  most  useful  as  an  introduction  to 
Wordsworth  is  the  essay  in  Shairp's  "  Studies  in  Poetry  and 
Philosophy."  I  may  mention  here  my  own  reprint  of  the  first 
edition  of  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  which  has  appeared  in  two  editions. 


WORDSWORTH'S    POEMS. 


If  thou  indeed  derive  thy  light  from  Heaven, 

Then,  to  the  measure  of  that  heaven-born  light, 

Shine,  Poet  !  in  thy  place,  and  be  content :  — 

The  stars  preeminent  in  magnitude, 

And  they  that  from  the  zenith  dart  their  beams, 

(Visible  though  they  be  to  half  the  earth, 

Though  half  a  sphere  be  conscious  of  their  brightness) 

Are  yet  of  no  diviner  origin, 

No  purer  essence,  than  the  one  that  burns. 

Like  an  untended  watch-fire  on  the  ridge 

Of  some  dark  mountain  ;  or  than  those  which  seem 

Humbly  to  hang,  like  twinkling  winter  lamps, 

Among  the  branches  of  the  leafless  trees.   " 

All  are  the  undying  offspring  of  one  Sire  : 

Then,  to  the  measure  of  the  light  vouchsafed, 

Shine,  Poet  !  in  thy  place,  and  be  content. 


WORDSWORTH'S    POEMS. 


LINES 

Left  upon  a  Seat  in  a  Yew-tree,  which  stands  near  the  lake  of  Esthwaite,  on  a 
desolate  part  of  the  shore,  commanding  a  beautiful  prospect. 

Nay,  Traveller  I  rest.     This  lonely  Yew-tree  stands 

Far  from  all  human  dwelling  :  what  if  here 

No  sparkling  rivulet  spread  the  verdant  herb  ? 

What  if  the  bee  love  not  these  barren  boughs  ? 

Yet,  if  the  wind  breathe  soft,  the  curling  waves,  5 

That  break  against  the  shore,  shall  lull  thy  mind 

By  one  soft  impulse  saved  from  vacancy. 

: \Who  he  was 

That  piled  these  stones  and  with  the  mossy  sod 

First  covered,  and  here  taught  this  aged  Tree  lo 

With  its  dark  arms  to  form  a  circling  bower, 

I  well  remember.  —  He  was  one  who  owned 

No  common  soul.      In  youth  by  science  nursed. 

And  led  by  nature  into  a  wild  scene 

Of  lofty  hopes,  he  to  the  world  went  forth  15 

A  favoured  Being,  knowing  no  desire 

Which  genius  did  not  hallow  :   'gainst  the  taint 

Of  dissolute  tongues,  and  iealousy,  and  hate. 

And  scorn,  —  against  all  enemies  prepared. 

All  but  neglect.     The  world,  for  so  it  thought,  20 

Owed  him  no  service  :  wherefore  he  at  once 

With  indignation  turned  himself  away, 

.A.nd  with  the  food  of  pride  sustained  his  soul 


4  LINES. 

In  solitude.  —  Stranger  !   these  gloomy  boughs 

Had  charms  for  him  ;  and  here  he  loved  to  sit,  25 

His  only  visitants  a  straggling  sheep, 

The  stone-chat,  or  the  glancing  sand-piper  : 

And  on  these  barren  rocks,  with  fern  and  heath, 

And  juniper  and  thistle,  sprinkled  o'er, 

Fixing  his  downcast  eye,  he  many  an  hour  3° 

A  morbid  pleasure  nourished,  tracing  here 

An  emblem  of  his  own  unfruitful  life  : 

And,  lifting  up  his  head,  he  then  would  gaze 

On  the  more  distant  scene,  —  how  lovely  't  is 

Thou  seest,  —  and  he  would  gaze  till  it  became  35 

Far  lovelier,  and  his  heart  could  not  sustain 

The  beauty,  still  more  beauteous  !     Nor,  that  time. 

When  nature  had  subdued  him  to  herself. 

Would  he  forget  those  Beings  to  whose  minds, 

Warm  from  the  labours  of  benevolence,  4° 

The  world,  and  human  life,  appeared  a  scene 

Of  kindred  loveliness  :  then  he  would  sigh. 

Inly  disturbed,  to  think  that  others  felt 

What  he  must  never  feel  :   and  so,  lost"  Man  ! 

On  visionary  views  would  fancy  feed,  45 

Till  his  eye  streamed  with  tears.      In  this  deep  vale 

He  died,  —  this  seat  his  only  monument. 

If  Thou  be  one  whose  heart  the  holy  forms 

Of  young  imagination  have  kept  pure. 

Stranger  !  henceforth  be  warned  ;   and  know  that  pride.     5° 

Howe'er  disguised  in  its  own  majesty. 

Is  littleness  ;   that  he,  who  feels  contempt 

For  any  living  thing,  hath  faculties 

Which  he  has  never  used  ;   that  thought  with  him 

Is  in  its  infancy.      The  man  whose  eye  55 

Is  ever  on  himself  doth  look  on  one. 

The  least  of  Nature's  works,  one  who  might  move 


MARGARET;     OR    THE    RUINED    COTTAGE.  5 

The  wise  man  to  that  scorn  which  wisdom  holds 

Unlawful,  ever.      O  be  wiser,  Thou  1 

Instructed  that  true  knowledge  leads  to  love  ;  60 

True  dignity  abides  with  him  alone 

Who,  in  the  silent  hour  of  inward  thought. 

Can  still  suspect,  and  still  revere  himself, 

In  lowliness  of  heart.  1795. 


MARGARET  ;    OR    THE    RUINED    COTTAGE. 

'T  WAS  summer,  and  the  sun  had  mounted  high  : 

Southward  the  landscape  indistinctly  glared 

Through  a  pale  steam  ;  but  all  the  northern  downs. 

In  clearest  air  ascending,  showed  far  off 

A  surface  dappled  o'er  with  shadows  flung  5 

From  brooding  clouds  ;  shadows  that  lay  in  spots 

Determined  and  unmoved,  with  steady  beams 

Of  bright  and  pleasant  sunshine  interposed  ; 

To  him  most  pleasant  who  on  soft  cool  moss 

Extends  his  careless  limbs  along  the  front  10 

Of  some  huge  cave,  whose  rocky  ceiling  casts 

A  twilight  of  its  own,  an  ample  shade. 

Where  the  wren  warbles,  while  the  dreaming  man, 

Half  conscious  of  the  soothing  melody. 

With  side-long  eye  looks  out  upon  the  scene,  '5 

By  power  of  that  impending  covert,  thrown 

To  finer  distance.      Mine  was  at  that  hour 

Far  other  lot.  yet  with  good  hope  that  soon 

Under  a  shade  as  grateful  I  should  find 

Rest,  and  be  welcomed  there  to  livelier  joy.  -o 

Across  a  bare  wide  Common  I  was  toiling 

With  languid  steps  that  by  the  slippery  turf 


MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUINED    COTTAGE. 

Were  baffled  ;  nor  could  my  \veak  arm  disperse 

The  host  of  insects  gathering  round  my  face, 

And  ever  with  me  as  I  paced  along.  23 

Upon  that  open  moorland  stood  a  grove. 
The  wished-for  port  to  which  my  course  was  bound. 
Thither  I  came,  and  there,  amid  the  gloom 
Spread  by  a  brotherhood  of  lofty  elms, 
Appeared  a  roofless  Hut  ;  four  naked  walls  30 

That  stared  upon  each  other  !  —  I  looked  round, 
And  to  my  wish  and  to  my  hope  espied 
The  Friend  I  sought ;  a  Man  of  reverend  age, 
But  stout  and  hale,  for  travel  unimpaired. 
There  was  he  seen  upon  the  cottage-bench,  35 

Recumbent  in  the  shade,  as  if  asleep  ; 
An  iron-pointed  staff  lay  at  his  side. 

Supine  the  Wanderer  lay, 
His  eyes  as  if  in  drowsiness  half  shut. 
The  shadows  of  the  breezy  elms  above  40 

Dappling  his  face.     He  had  not  heard  the  sound 
Of  my  approaching  steps,  and  in  the  shade 
Unnoticed  did  I  stand  some  minutes'  space. 
At  length  I  hailed  him,  seeing  that  his  hat 
Was  moist  with  water-drops,  as  if  the  brim  45 

Had  newly  scooped  a  running  stream.     He  rose. 
And  ere  our  lively  greeting  into  peace 
Had  settled,  "  'T  is,"  said  I,  "  a  burning  day  : 
My  lips  are  parched  with  thirst,  but  you,  it  seems 
Have  somewhere  found  relief."     He,  at  the  word,  5° 

Pointing  towards  a  sweet-briar,  bade  me  climb 
The  fence  where  that  aspiring  shrub  looked  out 
Upon  the  public  way.      It  was  a  plot 
Of  garden  ground  run  wild,  its  matted  weeds 


MARGARET;    OR    THE    RUINED    COTTAGE.  7 

Marked  with  the  steps  of  those,  whom,  aS  they  passed.    55 

The  gooseberry  trees  that  shot  in  long  lank  slips. 

Or  currants,  hanging  from  their  leafless  stems, 

In  scanty  strings,  had  tempted  to  o'erleap 

The  broken  wall.     I  looked  around,  and  there. 

Where  two  tall  hedge-rows  of  thick  alder  boughs  60 

Joined  in  a  cold  damp  nook,  espied  a  well 

Shrouded  with  willow-ffowers  and  plumy  fern. 

My  thirst  I  slaked,  and,  from  the  cheerless  spot 

Withdrawing,  straightway  to  the  shade  returned 

Where  sate  the  old  Man  on  the  cottage-bench  ;  65 

And,  while,  beside  him,  with  uncovered  head, 

I  yet  was  standing,  freely  to  respire, 

And  cool  my  temples  in  the  fanning  air. 

Thus  did  he  speak.     "  I  see  around  me  here 

Things  which  you  cannot  see  :  we  die,  my  Friend,  7° 

Nor  Ave  alone,  but  that  which  each  man  loved 

And  prized  in  his  peculiar  nook  of  earth 

Dies  with  him,  or  is  changed  ;   and  very  soon 

Even  of  the  good  is  no  memorial  left. 

—  The  Poets,  in  their  elegies  and  songs  75 

Lamenting  the  departed,  call  the  groves, 

They  call  upon  the  hills  and  streams,  to  mourn. 

And  senseless  rocks  ;  nor  idly ;  for  they  speak. 

In  these  their  invocations,  with  a  voice 

Obedient  to  the  strong  creative  power  So 

Of  human  passion.      Sympathies  there  are 

More  tranquil,  yet  perhaps  of  kindred  birth. 

That  steal  upon  the  meditative  mind, 

And  grow  with  thought.      Beside  yon  spring  I  stood. 

And  eyed  its  waters  till  we  seemed  to  feel  ^5 

One  sadness,  they  and  I.     For  them  a  bond 

Of  brotherhood  is  broken  :   time  has  been 

When,  every  day,  the  touch  of  human  hand 


MARGARET:    OK     TJIK    KillXED    COTTAGE. 

Dislodged  the  natural  sleep  that  binds  them  up 

In  mortal  stillness  ;   and  they  "ministered  90 

To  human  comfort.     Stooping  down  to  drink, 

Upon  the  slimy  foot-stone  I  espied 

The  useless  fragment  of  a  wooden  bowl. 

Green  with  the  moss  of  years,  and  subject  only 

To  the  soft  handling  of  the  elements  :  95 

There  let  it  lie  —  how  foolish  are  such  thoughts  I 

Forgive  them  ;  —  never  —  never  did  my  steps 

Approach  this  door  but  she  who  dwelt  within 

A  daughter's  welcome  gave  me,  and  I  loved  her 

As  my  own  child.     Oh,  Sir!  the  good  die  first,  loo 

And  they  whose  hearts  are  dry  as  summer  dust 

Burn  to  the  socket.     Many  a  passenger 

Hath  blessed  poor  Margaret  for  her  gentle  looks, 

When  she  upheld  the  cool  refreshment  drawn 

From  that  forsaken  spring  ;  and  no  one  came  105 

But  he  was  welcome ;  no  one  went  away 

But  that  it  seemed  she  loved  him.     She  is  dead. 

The  light  extinguished  of  her  lonely  hut. 

The  hut  itself  abandoned  to  decay. 

And  she  forgotten  in  the  quiet  grave.  no 

"  I  speak,"  continued  he.  '"  of  One  whose  stock 
Of  virtues  bloomed  beneath  this  lonely  roof. 
She  was  a  Woman  of  a  steady  mind, 
Tender  and  deep  in  her  excess  of  love ; 
Not  speaking  much,  pleased  rather  with  the  joy  "5 

Of  her  own  thoughts  :  by  some  especial  care 
Her  temper  had  been  framed,  as  if  to  make 
A  Being,  who  by  adding  love  to  peace 
Might  live  on  earth  a  life  of  happiness. 
Her  wedded  Partner  lacked  not  on  his  side  '-o 

The  humble  worth  that  satisfied  her  heart : 


MARGARET:    OR    THE    RUINED    COTTAGE.  g 

Frugal,  affectionate,  sober,  and  withal 

Keenly  industrious.     She  with  pride  would  tell 

That  he  was  often  seated  at  his  loom, 

In  summer,  ere  the  mower  was  abroad  '25 

Among  the  dewy  grass,  —  in  early  spring. 

Ere  the  last  star  had  vanished.  —  They  who  passed 

At  evening,  from  behind  the  garden  fence 

Might  hear  his  busy  spade,  which  he  would  ply. 

After  his  daily  work,  until  the  light  '3° 

Had  failed,  and  every  leaf  and  flower  were  lost 

In  the  dark  hedges.      So  their  days  were  spent 

In  peace  and  comfort ;   and  a  pretty  boy 

Was  their  best  hope,  next  to  the  God  in  heaven. 

"'  Not  twenty  years  ago,  but  you  I  think  135 

Can  scarcely  bear  it  now  in  mind,  there  came 
Two  blighting  seasons,  when  the  fields  were  left 
With  half  a  harvest.      It  pleased  Heaven  to  add 
A  worse  affliction  in  the  plague  of  war : 
This  happy  Land  was  stricken  to  the  heart !  14° 

A  Wanderer  then  among  the  cottages, 
I,  with  my  freight  of  winter  raiment,  saw 
The  hardships  of  that  season  :  many  rich 
Sank  down,  as  in  a  dream,  among  the  poor ; 
And  of  the  poor  did  many  cease  to  be,  145 

And  their  place  knew  them  not.     Meanwhile,  abridged 
Of  daily  comforts,  gladly  reconciled 
To  numerous  self-denials,  Margaret 
Went  struggling  on  through  those  calamitous  years 
With  cheerful  hope,  until  the  second  autumn.  150 

When  her  life's  Helpmate  on  a  sick-bed  lay. 
Smitten  with  perilous  fever.     In  disease 
He  lingered  long  ;  and,  when  his  strength  returned. 
He  found  the  little  he  had  stored,  to  meet 


MARGARET:    OR    THE   RUIAED    COTTAGE. 

The  hour  of  accident  or  crippling  age,  '55 

Was  all  consumed.     A  second  infant  now 

Was  added  to  the  troubles  of  a  time 

Laden,  for  them  and  all  of  their  degree, 

With  care  and  sorrow  ;   shoals  of  artisans 

From  ill-requited  labour  turned  adrift  i6o 

Sought  daily  bread  from  public  charity, 

They,  and  their  wives  and  children  —  happier  far 

Could  they  have  lived  as  do  the  little  birds 

That  peck  along  the  hedge-rows,  or  the  kite 

That  makes  her  dwelling  on  the  mountain  rocks !       165 

"  A  sad  reverse  it  was  for  him  who  long 
Had  filled  with  plenty,  and  possessed  in  peace. 
This  lonely  Cottage.     At  the  door  he  stood. 
And  whistled  many  a  snatch  of  merry  tunes 
That  had  no  mirth  in  them;  or  with  his  knife  170 

Carved  uncouth  figures  on  the  heads  of  sticks  — 
Then,  not  less  idl}^,  sought,  through  every  nook 
In  house  or  garden,  any  casual  w^ork 
Of  use  or  ornament :  and  with  a  strange. 
Amusing,  yet  uneasy,  novelty,  175 

He  mingled,  where  he  might,  the  various  tasks 
Of  summer,  autumn,  winter,  and  of  spring. 
But  this  endured  not ;  his  good  humour  soon 
Became  a  weight  in  which  no  pleasure  was  : 
And  poverty  brought  on  a  petted  mood  180 

And  a  sore  temper :  day  by  day  he  drooped, 
And  he  w'ould  leave  his  work  —  and  to  the  town 
Would  turn  without  an  errand  his  slack  steps  ; 
Or  wander  here  and  there  among  the  fields. 
One  while  he  would  speak  lightly  of  his  babes,  185 

And  with  a  cruel  tongue  :  at  other  times 
He  tossed  them  with  a  false  unnatural  joy : 


MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUINED    COTTAGE.  ii 

And  't  was  a  rueful  thing  to  see  the  looks 

Of  the  poor  innocent  children.     '  Every  smile,' 

Said  Margaret  to  me,  here  beneath  these  trees,  190 

'  Made  my  heart  bleed.'  "" 

At  this  the  Wanderer  paused  : 
And,  looking  up  to  those  enormous  elms. 
He  said,  "  'T  is  now  the  hour  of  deepest  noon. 
At  this  still  season  of  repose  and  peace. 
This  hour  when  all  things  which  are  not  at  rest  195 

Are  cheerful ;  while  this  multitude  of  flies 
With  tuneful  hum  is  filling  all  the  air  ; 
Why  should  a  tear  be  on  an  old  Man's  cheek  ? 
Why  should  we  thus,  with  an  untoward  mind, 
And  in  the  weakness  of  humanity,  .  200 

From  natural  wisdom  turn  our  hearts  away ; 
To  natural  comfort  shut  our  eyes  and  ears  ; 
And,  feeding  on  disquiet,  thus  disturb 
The  calm  of  nature  with  our  restless  thoughts  ?  " 


He  spake  with  somewhat  of  a  solemn  tone  :  205 

But,  when  he  ended,  there  was  in  his  face 

Such  easy  cheerfulness,  a  look  so  mild. 

That  for  a  little  time  it  stole  away 

All  recollection  ;  and  that  simple  tale 

Passed  from  my  mind  like  a  forgotten  sound.  210 

A  while  on  trivial  things  we  held  discourse. 

To  me  soon  tasteless.      In  my  own  despite, 

I  thought  of  that  poor  Woman  as  of  one 

Whom  I  had  known  and  loved.      He  had  rehearsed 

Her  homely  tale  with  such  familiar  power,  215 

With  such  an  active  countenance,  an  eye 

So  busy,  that  the  things  of  which  he  spake 

Seemed  present  ;  and,  attention  now  relaxed, 


[         MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUJNED    COTTAGE. 

A  heart-felt  chillness  crept  along  my  veins. 

I  rose  ;  and,  having  left  the  breezy  shade,  220 

Stood  drinking  comfort  from  the  warmer  sun. 

That  had  not  cheered  me  long  —  ere,  looking  round 

Upon  that  tranquil  Ruin,  I  returned, 

And  begged  of  the  old  Man  that,  for  my  sake. 

He  would  resume  his  story. 

He  replied,  225 

"  It  were  a  wantonness,  and  would  demand 
Severe  reproof,  if  we  were  men  whose  hearts 
Could  hold  vain  dalliance  with  the  misery 
Even  of  the  dead  ;  contented  thence  to  draw 
A  momentary  pleasure,  never  marked  230 

By  rea-son,  barren  of  all  future  good. 
But  we  have  known  that  there  is  often  found 
In  mournful  thoughts,  and  always  might  be  found, 
A  power  to  virtue  friendly  ;   were  't  not  so, 
I  am  a  dreamer  among  men,  indeed  235 

An  idle  dreamer  !     'T  is  a  common  tale, 
An  ordinary  sorrow  of  man's  life, 
A  tale  of  silent  suffering,  hardly  clothed 
In  bodily  form.  —  But  without  further  bidding 
I  will  proceed. 

While  thus  it  fared  with  them,  240 

To  whom  this  cottage,  till  those  hapless  years. 
Had  been  a  blessed  home,  it  was  my  chance 
To  travel  in  a  country  far  remote  ; 
And  when  these  lofty  elms  once  more  appeared 
What  pleasant  expectations  lured  me  on  245 

O'er  the  flat  Common  !  —  With  quick  step  I  reached 
The  threshold,  lifted  with  light  hand  the  latch  ; 
But,  when  I  entered,  Margaret  looked  at  me 
A  little  while  ;   then  turned  her  head  away 


MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUINED    COTTAGE.  13 

Speechless,  ■ —  and,  sitting  down  upon  a  chair,  250 

Wept  bitterly.     I  wist  not  what  to  do, 

Nor  how  to  speak  to  her.     Poor  Wretch  !  at  last 

She  rose  from  off  her  seat,  and  then,  —  O  Sir  ! 

I  cannot  tell  how  she  pronounced  my  name  :  — 

With  fervent  love,  and  with  a  face  of  grief  255 

Unutterably  helpless,  and  a  look 

That  seemed  to  cling  upon  me,  she  enquired 

If  I  had  seen  her  husband.     As  she  spake 

A  strange  surprise  and  fear  came  to  my  heart, 

Nor  had  I  power  to  answer  ere  she  told  260 

That  he  had  disappeared  —  not  two  months  gone. 

He  left  his  house  :  two  wretched  days  had  past, 

And  on  the  third,  as  wistfully  she  raised 

Her  head  from  off  her  pillow,  to  look  forth, 

Like  one  in  trouble,  for  returning  light,  265 

Within  her  chamber-casement  she  espied 

A  folded  paper,  lying  as  if  placed 

To  meet  her  waking  eyes.     This  tremblingly 

She  opened  —  found  no  writing,  but  beheld 

Pieces  of  money  carefully  enclosed,  270 

Silver  and  gold.     '  I  shuddered  at  the  sight,' 

Said  Margaret,  '  for  I  knew  it  was  his  hand 

That  must  have  placed  it  there  ;   and  ere  that  day 

Was  ended,  that  long  anxious  day,  I  learned. 

From  one  who  by  my  husband  had  been  sent  275 

With  the  sad  news,  that  he  had  joined  a  troop 

Of  soldiers,  going  to  a  distant  land. 

—  He  left  me  thus  —  he  could  not  gather  heart 

To  take  a  farewell  of  me  ;  for  he  feared 

That  I  should  follow  with  my  babes,  and  sink  280 

Beneath  the  misery  of  that  wandering  life.' 

"  This  tale  did  Margaret  tell  with  many  tears  : 
And.  when  she  ended.  I  had  little  power 


14 


MARGARET:    OR    THK    RUJiXED    COTTAGE. 


To  give  her  comfort,  and  was  glad  to  take 

Such  words  of  hope  from  her  own  mouth  as  served  285 

To  cheer  us  both.     But  long  we  had  not  talked 

Ere  we  built  up  a  pile  of  better  thoughts, 

And  with  a  brighter  eye  she  looked  around 

As  if  she  had  been  shedding  tears  of  joy. 

We  parted.  —  'T  was  the  time  of  early  spring  ;  290 

I  left  her  busy  with  her  garden  tools  ; 

And  well  remember,  o'er  that  fence  she  looked, 

And,  while  I  paced  along  the  foot-way  path, 

Called  out,  and  sent  a  blessing  after  me, 

With  tender  cheerfulness,  and  with  a  voice  295 

That  seemed  the  very  sound  of  happy  thoughts. 

"  I  roved  o'er  many  a  hill  and  many  a  dale. 
With  my  accustomed  load ;  in  heat  and  cold. 
Through  many  a  wood  and  many  an  open  ground, 
In  sunshine  and  in  shade,  in  wet  and  fair,  300 

Drooping  or  blithe  of  heart,  as  might  befall  ; 
My  best  companions  now  the  driving  winds. 
And  now  the  '  trotting  brooks  '  and  whispering  trees. 
And  now  the  music  of  my  own  sad  steps, 
With  many  a  short-lived  thought  that  passed  between,       305 
And  disappeared. 

I  journeyed  back  this  way, 
When,  in  the  warmth  of  midsummer,  the  wheat 
Was  yellow  ;   and  the  soft  and  bladed  grass, 
Springing  afresh,  had  o'er  the  hay-field  spread 
Its  tender  verdure.     At  the  door  arrived,  31° 

I  found  that  she  w'as  absent.     In  the  shade, 
Where  now  we  sit,  I  waited  her  return. 
Her  cottage,  then  a  cheerful  object,  wore 
Its  customary  look,  —  only,  it  seemed. 
The  honeysuckle,  crowding  round  the  porch,  3' 5 


MARGARET;    OR    THE    RUINED    COTTAGE. 


15 


Hung  down  in  heavier  tufts  ;   and  that  bright  weed. 

The  yellow  stone-crop,  suffered  to  take  root 

Along  the  window's  edge,  profusely  grew^ 

Blinding  the  lower  panes.     I  turned  aside, 

And  strolled  into  her  garden.     It  appeared  320 

To  lag  behind  the  season,  and  had  lost 

Its  pride  of  neatness.     Daisy-flowers  and  thrift 

Had  broken  their  trim  border-lines,  and  straggled 

O'er  paths  they  used  to  deck:  carnations,  once 

Prized  for  surpassing  beauty,  and  no  less  325 

For  the  peculiar  pains  they  had  required. 

Declined  their  languid  heads,  wanting  support. 

The  cumbrous  bind-weed,  with  its  wreaths  and  bells, 

Had  twined  about  her  two  small  rows  of  peas. 

And  dragged  them  to  the  earth. 

Ere  this  an  hour  ZIP 

Was  wasted.  —  Back  I  turned  my  restless  steps; 
A  stranger  passed  ;   and,  guessing  whom  I  sought. 
He  said  that"  she  was  used  to  ramble  far.  — 
The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west ;  and  now 
I  sate  with  sad  impatience.     From  within  335 

Her  solitary  infant  cried  aloud; 
Then,  like  a  blast  that  dies  away  self-stilled. 
The  voice  was  silent.      From  the  bench  I  rose  : 
But  neither  could  divert  nor  soothe  my  thoughts. 
The  spot,  though  fair,  was  very  desolate  —  340 

The  longer  I  remained,  more  desolate  ; 
And,  looking  round  me,  now  I  first  observed 
The  corner  stones,  on  either  side  the  porch. 
With  dull  red  stains  discoloured,  and  stuck  o'er 
With  tufts  and  hairs  of  wool,  as  if  the  sheep.  345 

That  fed  upon  the  Common,  thither  came 
Familiarly,  and  found  a  couching-place 
Even  at  her  threshold.     Deeper  shadows  fell 


1 6         MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUINED    COTTAGE. 

From  these  tall  elms  ;  the  cottage-clock  struck  eight ;  — 

I  turned,  and  saw  her  distant  a  few  steps.  35° 

Her  face  was  pale  and  thin  —  her  figure,  too. 

Was  changed.     As  she  unlocked  the  door,  she  said, 

'  It  grieves  me  you  have  waited  here  so  long, 

But,  in  good  truth,  I  've  wandered  much  of  late. 

And  sometimes  —  to  my  shame  I  speak  —  have  need        355 

Of  my  best  prayers  to  bring  me  back  again. 

While  on  the  board  she  spread  our  evening  meal, 

She  told  me  —  interrupting  not  the  work 

Which  gave  employment  to  her  listless  hands  — 

That  she  had  parted  with  her  elder  child ;  3^° 

To  a  kind  master  on  a  distant  farm 

Now  happily  apprenticed.  — '  I  perceive 

You  look  at  me,  and  you  have  cause;  to-day 

I  have  been  travelling  far;  and  many  days 

About  the  fields  I  wander,  knowing  this  '  '3^5 

Only,  that  what  I  seek  I  cannot  find  ; 

And  so  I  waste  my  time  :  for  I  am  changed ; 

And  to  myself,'  said  she,  'have  done  much  wrong 

And  to  this  helpless  infant.     I  have  slept 

Weeping,  and  weeping  have  I  waked  ;  my  tears  37° 

Have  flowed  as  if  my  body  were  not  such 

As  others  are  ;  and  I  could  never  die. 

But  I  am  now  in  mind  and  in  my  heart 

More  easy;  and  I  hope,'  said  she,  'that  God 

Will  give  me  patience  to  endure  the  things  375 

Which  I  behold  at  home.' 

It  would  have  grieved 
Your  very  soul  to  see  her.     Sir,  I  feel 
The  story  linger  in  my  heart ;  I  fear 
'T  is  long  and  tedious ;  but  my  spirit  clings 
To  that  poor  Woman  :  —  so  familiarly  3^° 

Do  I  perceive  her  manner,  and  her  look. 


MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUINED    COTTAGE.  17 

And  presence  ;  and  so  deeply  do  I  feel 

Her  goodness,  that,  not  seldom,  in  my  walks 

A  momentary  trance  comes  over  me  ; 

And  to  myself  I  seem  to  muse  on  One  385 

By  sorrow  laid  asleep;  or  borne  away, 

A  human  being  destined  to  awake 

To  human  life,  or  something  very  near 

To  human  life,  when  he  shall  come  again 

For  whom  she  suffered.     Yes,  it  would  have  grieved     39° 

Your  very  soul  to  see  her:  evermore 

Her  eyelids  drooped,  her  eyes  downward  were  cast ; 

And,  when  she  at  her  table  gave  me  food. 

She  did  not  look  at  me.     Her  voice  was  low, 

Her  body  was  subdued.      In  every  act  395 

Pertaining  to  her  house-affairs,  appeared 

The  careless  stillness  of  a  thinking  mind 

Self-occupied:  to  which  all  outward  things 

Are  like  an  idle  matter.     Still  she  sighed. 

But  yet  no  motion  of  the  breast  was  seen,  400 

No  heaving  of  the  heart.     While  by  the  fire 

We  sate  together,  sighs  came  on  my  ear, 

I  knew  not  how,  and  hardly  whence  they  came. 

"  Ere  my  departure,  to  her  care  I  gave, 

For  her  son's  use,  some  tokens  of  regard,  405 

Which  with  a  look  of  welcome  she  received  ; 

And  I  exhorted  her  to  place  her  trust 

In  God's  good  love,  and  seek  his  help  by  prayer. 

I  took  my  staff,  and,  when  I  kissed  her  babe. 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.     I  left  her  then  410 

With  the  best  hope  and  comfort  I  could  give  : 

She  thanked  me  for  my  wish; — but  for  my  hope 

It  seemed  she  did  not  thank  me. 

I  returned, 
And  took  my  rounds  along  this  road  again 


l8         MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUINED    COTTAGE. 

When  on  its  sunny  bank  the  primrose  flower  415 

Peeped  forth,  to  give  an  earnest  of  the  Spring. 

I  found  her  sad  and  drooping  :  she  had  learned 

No  tidings  of  her  husband  ;  if  he  lived, 

She  knew  not  that  he  lived  ;  if  he  were  dead, 

She  knew  not  he  was  dead.     She  seemed  the  same       420 

In  person  and  appearance ;  but  her  house 

Bespake  a  sleepy  hand  of  negligence  ; 

The  floor  was  neither  dry  nor  neat,  the  hearth 

Was  comfortless,  and  her  small  lot  of  books. 

Which,  in  the  cottage-window,  heretofore  425 

Had  been  piled  up  against  the  corner  panes 

In  seemly  order,  now,  with  straggling  leaves 

Lay  scattered  here  and  there,  open  or  shut. 

As  they  had  chanced  to  fall.     Her  infant  Babe 

Had  from  his  Mother  caught  the  trick  of  grief,  430 

And  sighed  among  its  playthings.     I  withdrew. 

And  once  again  entering  the  garden  saw. 

More  plainly  still,  that  poverty  and  grief 

Were  now  come  nearer  to  her :  weeds  defaced 

The  hardened  soil,  and  knots  of  withered  grass  :  435 

No  ridges  there  appeared  of  clear  black  mould, 

No  winter  greenness ;  of  her  herbs  and  flowers. 

It  seemed  the  better  part  was  gnawed  away 

Or  trampled  into  earth ;   a  chain  of  straw, 

Which  had  been  twined  about  the  slender  stem  44° 

Of  a  young  apple-tree,  lay  at  its  root ; 

The  bark  was  nibbled  round  by  truant  sheep. 

—  Margaret  stood  near,  her  infant  in  her  arms, 

And,  noting  that  my  eye  was  on  the  tree. 

She  said,  '  I  fear  it  will  be  dead  and  gone  445 

Ere  Robert  come  again.'     When  to  the  House 

We  had  returned  together,  she  enquired 

If  I  had  any  hope  :  —  but  for  her  babe 


MARGARET:    OR    THE   RUINED   COTTAGE.  ig 

And  for  her  little  orphan  boy,  she  said. 

She  had  no  wish  to  live,  that  she  must  die  45° 

Of  sorrow.     Yet  I  saw  the  idle  loom 

Still  in  its  place  ;  his  Sunday  garments  hung 

Upon  the  self-same  nail ;  his  very  staff 

Stood  undisturbed  behind  the  door. 

And  when, 
In  bleak  December,  I  retraced  this  way,  455 

She  told  me  that  her  little  babe  was  dead. 
And  she  was  left  alone.     She  now,  released 
From  her  maternal  cares,  had  taken  up 
The  employment  common  through  these  wilds,  and  gained. 
By  spinning  hemp,  a  pittance  for  herself :  460 

And  for  this  end  had  hired  a  neighbour's  boy 
To  give  her  needful  help.     That  very  time 
Most  willingly  she  put  her  work  aside, 
And  walked  with  me  along  the  miry  road, 
Heedless  how  far ;  and,  in  such  piteous  sort  465 

That  any  heart  had  ached  to  hear  her,  begged 
That,  wheresoe'er  I  went,  I  still  would  ask 
P'or  him  whom  she  had  lost.     We  parted  then  — 
Our  final  parting ;  for  from  that  time  forth 
Did  many  seasons  pass  ere  I  returned  470 

Into  this  tract  again. 

Nine  tedious  years  ; 
From  their  first  separation,  nine  long  years, 
She  lingered  in  unquiet  widowhood  : 
A  Wife  and  Widow.     Needs  must  it  have  been 
A  sore  heart-wasting  !      I  have  heard,  my  Friend,  475 

That  in  yon  arbour  oftentimes  she  sate 
Alone,  through  half  the  vacant  sabbath  day  ; 
And,  if  a  dog  passed  by,  she  still  would  quit 
The  shade,  and  look  abroad.     On  this  old  bench 
For  hours  she  sate  ;  and  evermore  her  eye  4^o 


20         MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUINED    COTTAGE. 

Was  busy  in  the  distance,  shaping  things 

That  made  her  heart  beat  quick.     You  see  that  path, 

Now  faint,  —  the  grass  has  crept  o'er  its  grey  line  ; 

There,  to  and  fro,  she  paced  through  many  a  day 

Of  the  warm  summer,  from  a  belt  of  hemp  485 

That  girt  her  waist,  spinning  the  long-drawn  thread 

With  backward  steps.     Yet  ever  as  there  passed 

A  man  whose  garments  showed  the  soldier's  red. 

Or  crippled  mendicant  in  sailor's  garb. 

The  little  child  who  sate  to  turn  the  wheel  49° 

Ceased  from  his  task  ;  and  she  with  faltering  voice 

Made  many  a  fond  enquiry ;  and  when  they. 

Whose  presence  gave  no  comfort,  were  gone  by, 

Her  heart  was  still  more  sad.     And  by  yon  gate, 

That  bars  the  traveller's  road,  she  often  stood,  495 

And  when  a  stranger  horseman  came,  the  latch 

Would  lift,  and  in  his  face  look  wistfully  ; 

Most  happy,  if,  from  aught  discovered  there 

Of  tender  feeling,  she  might  dare  repeat 

The  same  sad  question.     Meanwhile  her  poor  Hut  5°° 

Sank  to  decay ;  for  he  was  gone,  whose  hand. 

At  the  first  nipping  of  October  frost. 

Closed  up  each  chink,  and  with  fresh  bands  of  straw 

Chequered  the  green-grown  thatch.     And  so  she  lived 

Through  the  long  winter,  reckless  and  alone  ;  S^S 

Until  her  house  by  frost,  and  thaw,  and  rain, 

Was  sapped ;  and  while  she  slept,  the  nightly  damps 

Did  chill  her  breast;   and  in  the  stormy  day 

Her  tattered  clothes  were  ruffled  by  the  wind, 

Even  at  the  side  of  her  own  fire.     Yet  still  5'° 

She  loved  this  wretched  spot,  nor  would  for  worlds 

Have  parted  hence;  and  still  that  length  of  road, 

And  this  rude  bench,  one  torturing  hope  endeared. 

Fast  rooted  at  her  heart:  and  here,  my  Friend, — 


MARGARET;    OR    THE   RUINED    COTTAGE.  21 

In  sickness  she  remained  ;  and  here  she  died  ;  515' 

Last  human  tenant  of  these  ruined  walls  !  " 

The  old  Man  ceased :   he  saw  that  I  was  moved ; 
From  that  low  bench,  rising  instinctively, 
I  turned  aside  in  weakness,  nor  had  power 
To  thank  him  for  the  tale  which  he  had  told.  520 

I  stood,  and  leaning  o'er  the  garden  wall 
Reviewed  that  Woman's  sufferings;  and  it  seemed 
To  comfort  me  while  with  a  brother's  love 
I  blessed  her  in  the  impotence  of  grief. 

Then  towards  the  cottage  I  returned ;   and  traced  525 

Fondly,  though  with  an  interest  more  mild, 
That  secret  spirit  of  humanity 
Which,  'mid  the  calm,  oblivious  tendencies 
Of  nature,  'mid  her  plants,  and  weeds,  and  flowers, 
And  silent  overgrowings,  still  survived.  530 

The  old  Man,  noting  this,  resumed,  and  said, 
"  My  Friend  !  enough  to  sorrow  you  have  given. 
The  purposes  of  wisdom  ask  no  more  : 
Nor  more  would  she  have  craved  as  due  to  One 
Who,  in  her  worst  distress,  had  ofttimes  felt  535 

The  unbounded  might  of  prayer  ;  and  learned,  with  soul 
Fixed  on  the  Cross,  that  consolation  springs. 
From  sources  deeper  far  than  deepest  pain. 
For  the  meek  Sufferer.     Why  then  should  we  read 
The  forms  of  things  with  an  unworthy  eye  .'  540 

She  sleeps  in  the  calm  earth,  and  peace  is  here. 
I  well  remember  that  those  very  plumes. 
Those  weeds,  and  the  high  spear-grass  on  that  wall, 
By  mist  and  silent  rain-drops  silvered  o'er. 
As  once  I  passed,  into  my  heart  conveyed  545 

So  still  an  image  of  tranquillity, 
So  calm  and  still,  and  looked  so  beautiful 


2  2  THE   REVERIE    OF  POOR   SUSAN. 

Amid  the  uneasy  thoughts  which  filled  my  mind, 

That  what  we  feel  of  sorrow  and  despair 

From  ruin  and  from  change,  and  all  the  grief  55° 

That  passing  shows  of  Being  leave  behind, 

Appeared  an  idle  dream,  that  could  maintain. 

Nowhere,  dominion  o'er  the  enlightened  spirit 

Whose  meditative  sympathies  repose 

Upon  the  breast  of  Faith.     I  turned  away.  555 

And  walked  along  my  road  in  happiness." 

He  ceased.     Ere  long  the  sun  declining  shot 
A  slant  and  mellow  radiance,  which  began 
To  fall  upon  us,  while,  beneath  the  trees. 
We  sate  on  that  low  bench :  and  now  we  felt,  5^° 

Admonished  thus,  the  sweet  hour  coming  on. 
A  linnet  warbled  from  those  lofty  elms, 
A  thrush  sang  loud,  and  other  melodies, 
At  distance  heard,  peopled  the  milder  air. 
The  old  Man  rose,  and,  with  a  sprightly  mien  5^5 

Of  hopeful  preparation,  grasped  his  staff; 
Together  casting  then  a  farewell  look  . 
Upon  those  silent  walls,  we  left  the  shade  ; 
And,  ere  the  stars  were  visible,  had  reached 
A  village-inn,  —  our  evening  resting-place. 

1795-1798. 


THE  REVERIE  OF  POOR  SUSAN. 

At  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when  daylight  appears. 
Hangs  a  Thrush  that  sings  loud,  it  has  sung  for  three 

years: 
Poor  Susan  has  passed  by  the  spot,  and  has  heard 
In  the  silence  of  morning  the  song  of  the  Bird. 


A    AIGHT-FJECE. 

'T  is  a  note  of  enchantment ;  what  ails  her  ?     She  sees 
A  mountain  ascending,  a  vision  of  trees  : 
Bright  volumes  of  vapour  through  Lothbury  glide, 
And  a  river  flows  on  through  the  vale  of  Cheapside. 

Green  pastures  she  views  in  the  midst  of  the  dale, 
Down  which  she  so  often  has  tripped  with  her  pail  ; 
And  a  single  small  cottage,  a  nest  like  a  dove's, 
The  one  only  dwelling  on  earth  that  she  loves. 

She  looks,  and  her  heart  is  in  heaven  :  but  they  fade, 
The  mist  and  the  river,  the  hill  and  the  shade  : 
The  stream  will  not  flow,  and  the  hill  will  not  rise, 
And  the  colours  have  all  passed  away  from  her  eyes  ! 

1797. 


23 


A  NIGHT-PIECE. 

The  sky  is  overcast, 

With  a  continuous  cloud  of  texture  close, 

Heavy  and  wan,  all  whitened  by  the  Moon, 

Which  through  that  veil  is  indistinctly  seen, 

A  dull,  contracted  circle,  yielding  light  5 

So  feebly  spread,  that  not  a  shadow  falls. 

Chequering  the  ground  —  from  rock,  plant,  tree,  or  tower. 

At  length  a  pleasant  instantaneous  gleam 

Startles  the  pensive  traveller  while  he  treads 

His  lonesome  path,  with  unobserving  eye  10 

Bent  earthwards  ;  he  looks  up  —  the  clouds  are  split 

Asunder,  —  and  above  his  head  he  sees 

The  clear  Moon,  and  the  glory  of  the  heavens. 

There,  in  a  black-blue  vault  she  sails  along. 

Followed  by  multitudes  of  stars,  that,  small  15 


24 


IVE   ARE  SEVEN. 

And  sharp,  and  bright,  along  the  dark  abyss 

Drive  as  she  drives  :  how  fast  they  wheel  away, 

Yet  vanish  not  1  —  the  wind  is  in  the  tree, 

But  they  are  silent  ;  —  still  they  roll  along 

Immeasurably  distant  ;  and  the  vault,  20 

Built  round  by  those  white  clouds,  enormous  clouds. 

Still  deepens  its  unfathomable  depth. 

At  length  the  Vision  closes  ;  and  the  mind, 

Not  undisturbed  by  the  delight  it  feels. 

Which  slowly  settles  into  peaceful  calm,  25 

Is  left  to  muse  upon  the  solemn  scene. 

1798. 


WE   ARE    SEVEN. 

A  SIMPLE  Child, 

That  lightly  draws  its  breath. 
And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb, 
What  should  it  know  of  death  ? 

I  met  a  little  cottage  Girl  :  5 

She  was  eight  years  old,  she  said  ; 
Her  hair  was  thick  with  many  a  curl 
That  clustered  round  her  head. 

She  had  a  rustic,  woodland  air, 

And  she  was  wildly  clad  :  10 

Her  eyes  were  fair,  and  very  fair  ; 

—  Her  beauty  made  me  glad. 

"  Sisters  and  brothers,  little  Maid, 

How  many  may  you  be  ?  " 

"  How  many  ?     Seven  in  all,"  she  said  15 

And  wondering  looked  at  me. 


IV£   ARE  SEVEN. 


25 


"  And  where  are  they  ?     I  pray  you  tell." 

She  answered,  "  Seven  are  we  ; 

And  two  of  us  at  Conway  dwell, 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea.  20 

"Two  of  us  in  the  church-yard  lie, 
My  sister  and  my  brother  ; 
And,  in  the  church-yard  cottage,  I 
Dwell  near  them  with  my  mother." 

"  You  say  that  two  at  Conway  dwell,  25 

And  two  are  gone  to  sea. 

Yet  ye  are  seven  !  —  I  pray  you  tell, 

Sweet  Maid,  how  this  may  be." 

Then  did  the  little  Maid  reply, 

"  Seven  boys  and  girls  are  we  ;  3° 

Two  of  us  in  the  church-yard  lie, 

Beneath  the  church-yard  tree." 

"  You  run  about,  my  little  Maid, 

Your  limbs  they  are  alive  ; 

If  two  are  in  the  church-yard  laid,  35 

Then  ye  are  only  five." 

"  Their  graves  are  green,  they  may  be  seen," 

The  little  maid  replied, 

"  Twelve  steps  or  more  from  my  mother's  door. 

And  they  are  side  by  side  4° 

"  My  stockings  there  I  often  knit. 
My  kerchief  there  I  hem  ; 
x-Vnd  there  upon  the  ground  I  sit. 
And  sing  a  song  to  them. 


26  ^'1''^    ^K^    SEyEN. 

"  And  often  after  sunset,  Sir,  45 

When  it  is  light  and  fair, 
I  take  my  little  porringer, 
And  eat  my  supper  there. 

"  The  first  that  died  was  sister  Jane  ; 

In  bed  she  moaning  lay,  5° 

Till  God  released  her  of  her  pain  ; 

And  then  she  went  away. 

"  So  in  the  church-yard  she  was  laid  ; 

And,  when  the  grass  was  dry, 

Together  round  her  grave  we  played,  55 

My  brother  John  and  I. 

"  And  when  the  ground  was  white  with  snow, 

And  I  could  run  and  slide, 

My  brother  John  was  forced  to  go, 

And  he  lies  by  her  side."  6o 

"  How  many  are  you,  then,"  said  I, 
"  If  they  two  are  in  heaven  ?  " 
Quick  was  the  little  Maid's  reply, 
"  O  Master  !  we  are  seven." 

"  But  they  are  dead  ;  those  two  are  dead  !  65 

Their  spirits  are  in  heaven  !  " 

'T  was  throwing  words  away  ;  for  still 

The  little  Maid  would  have  her  will, 

And  said,  "  Nay,  we  are  seven  !  " 

1798. 


SIMOX  LEE.  27 

SIMON    LEE 

THE    OLD    HUNTSMAN  ;     WITH    AN    INCIDKNT    IN    WHICH 
HE    WAS    CONCERNED. 

In  the  sweet  shire  of  Cardigan, 

Not  far  from  pleasant  Ivor-hall, 

An  old  Man  dwells,  a  little  man, 

'T  is  said  he  once  was  tall. 

Full  five-and-thirty  years  he  lived  5 

A  running  huntsman  merry  ; 

And  still  the  centre  of  his  cheek 

Is  red  as  a  ripe  cherry. 

No  man  like  him  the  horn  could  sound, 

And  hill  and  valley  rang  with  glee  10 

When  Echo  bandied,  round  and  round, 

The  halloo  of  Simon  Lee. 

In  those  proud  days,  he  little  cared 

For  husbandry  or  tillage  ; 

To  blither  tasks  did  Simon  rouse  15 

The  sleepers  of  the  village. 

He  all  the  country  could  outrun. 

Could  leave  both  man  and  horse  behind ; 

And  often,  ere  the  chase  was  done. 

He  reeled,  and  was  stone-blind.  20 

And  still  there  's  something  in  the  world 

At  which  his  heart  rejoices  ; 

For  when  the  chiming  hounds  are  out, 

He  dearly  loves  their  voices  ! 

But,  oh  the  heavy  change  !  —  bereft  25 

Of  health,  strength,  friends,  and  kindred,  see ! 
Old  Simon  to  the  world  is  left 
In  liveried  poverty. 


28  SJMON  LEE. 

His  Master  's  dead,  —  and  no  one  now 

Dwells  in  the  Hall  of  Ivor;  3° 

Men,  dogs,  and  horses,  all  are  dead  ; 

He  is  the  sole  survivor. 

And  he  is  lean  and  he  is  sick ; 

His  body  dwindled  and  awry, 

Rests  upon  ankles  swoln  and  thick  ;  35 

His  legs  are  thin  and  dry. 

One  prop  he  has,  and  only  one, 

His  wife,  an  aged  woman, 

Lives  with  him,  near  the  waterfall, 

Upon  the  village  Common.  4o 

Beside  their  moss-grown  hut  of  clay, 

Not  twenty  paces  from  the  door, 

A  scrap  of  land  they  have,  but  they 

Are  poorest  of  the  poor. 

This  scrap  of  land  he  from  the  heath  45 

Enclosed  when  he  was  stronger ; 

But  what  to  them  avails  the  land 

Which  he  can  till  no  longer  ? 

Oft,  working  by  her  Husband's  side, 

Ruth  does  what  Simon  cannot  do  ,  5° 

For  she,  with  scanty  cause  for  pride. 

Is  stouter  of  the  two. 

And,  though  you  with  your  utmost  skill 

From  labour  could  not  wean  them, 

'T  is  little,  very  little  —  all  55 

That  they  can  do  between  them. 

Few  months  of  life  has  he  in  store 

As  he  to  you  will  tell. 

For  still,  the  more  he  works,  the  more 

Do  his  weak  ankles  swell.  6o 


SIMON  LEE. 


29 


My  gentle  Reader,  I  perceive 
How  patiently  you  've  waited, 
And  now  I  fear  that  you  expect 
Some  tale  will  be  related. 

O  Reader  !  had  you  in  your  mind  65 

Such  stores  as  silent  thought  can  bring, 

0  gentle  Reader  !  you  would  find 
A  tale  in  every  thing. 

What  more  I  have  to  say  is  short. 

And  you  must  kindly  take  it :  7° 

It  is  no  tale  ;  but,  should  you  think. 

Perhaps  a  tale  you  '11  make  it. 

One  summer-day  I  chanced  to  see 

This  old  Man  doing  all  he  could 

To  unearth  the  root  of  an  old  tree,  75 

A  stump  of  rotten  wood. 

The  mattock  tottered  in  his  hand  ; 

So  vain  was  his  endeavour, 

That  at  the  root  of  the  old  tree 

He  might  have  worked  for  ever.  80 

"  You  're  overtasked,  good  Simon  Lee, 
Give  me  your  tool,"  to  him  I  said  ; 
And  at  the  word  right  gladly  he 
Received  my  proffered  aid. 

1  struck,  and  with  a  single  blow  85 
The  tangled  root  I  severed, 

At  which  the  poor  old  Man  so  long 
And  vainly  had  endeavoured. 

The  tears  into  his  eyes  were  brought, 

And  thanks  and  praises  seemed  to  run  9° 

So  fast  out  of  his  heart,  I  thought 

They  never  would  have  done. 


3° 


LINES    WRITTEN  IN  EARLY  SPRING. 

—  I  've  heard  of  hearts  unkind,  kind  deeds 

With  coldness  still  returning  ; 

Alas  !  the  gratitude  of  men  95 

Hath  oftener  left  me  mourning. 

1798. 


LINES    WRITTEN    IN   EARLY    SPRING. 

I  HEARD  a  thousand  blended  notes, 
While  in  a  grove  I  sate  reclined, 
In  that  sweet  mood  when  pleasant  thoughts 
Bring  sad  thoughts  to  the  mind. 

To  her  fair  works  did  Nature  link  5 

The  human  soul  that  through  me  ran  ; 
And  much  it  grieved  my  heart  to  think 
What  man  has  made  of  man. 

Through  primrose  tufts,  in  that  green  bower, 

The  periwinkle  trailed  its  wreaths  ;  10 

And  't  is  my  faith  that  every  flower 

Enjoys  the  air  it  breathes. 

The  birds  around  me  hopped  and  played. 

Their  thoughts  I  cannot  measure  :  — 

But  the  least  motion  which  they  made  iS 

It  seemed  a  thrill  of  pleasure. 

The  budding  twigs  spread  out  their  fan, 

To  catch  the  breezy  air  ; 

And  I  must  think,  do  all  I  can. 

That  there  was  pleasure  there.  20 


TO   MY  SISTER. 

If  this  belief  from  heaven  be  sent, 
If  such  be  Nature's  holy  plan, 
Have  I  not  reason  to  lament 
What  man  has  made  of  man  ? 


31 


1798. 


TO    MV    SISTER. 

It  is  the  first  mild  day  of  March : 
Each  minute  sweeter  than  before. 
The  redbreast  sings  from  the  tall  larch 
That  stands  beside  our  door. 

There  is  a  blessing  in  the  air,  5 

Which  seems  a  sense  of  joy  to  yield 
To  the  bare  trees,  and  mountains  bare, 
And  grass  in  the  green  field. 

My  sister  !   ('t  is  a  wish  of  mine) 

Now  that  our  morning  meal  is  done,  10 

Make  haste,  your  morning  task  resign  ; 

Come  forth  and  feel  the  sun. 

Edward  will  come  with  you;  — and,  pray, 

Put  on  with  speed  your  woodland  dress ; 

And  bring  no  book  :   for  this  one  day  15 

We  '11  give  to  idleness. 

No  joyless  forms  shall  regulate 

Our  living  calendar  : 

We  from  to-day,  my  Friend,  will  date 

The  opening  of  the  year.  20 


32  EXPOSTULATION  AND   REPLY. 

Love,  now  a  universal  birth, 
From  heart  to  heart  is  stealing, 
From  earth  to  man,  from  man  to  earth  : 
—  It  is  the  hour  of  feeling. 

One  moment  now  may  give  us  more  25 

Than  years  of  toiling  reason  : 

Our  minds  shall  drink  at  every  pore 

The  spirit  of  the  season. 

Some  silent  laws  our  hearts  will  make, 

Which  they  shall  long  obey  :  3° 

We  for  the  year  to  come  may  take 

Our  temper  from  to-day. 

And  from  the  blessed  power  that  rolls 

About,  below,  above, 

We  '11  frame  the  measure  of  our  souls  :  35 

They  shall  be  tuned  to  love. 

Then  come,  my  Sister  !  come,  I  pray. 
With  speed  put  on  your  woodland  dress  ; 
And  bring  no  book  :  for  this  one  day 
We  '11  give  to  idleness.  4° 

1798. 


EXPOSTULATION    AND    REPLY. 

"  Why,  William,  on  that  old  grey  stone, 
Thus  for  the  length  of  half  a  day, 
Why,  William,  sit  you  thus  alone. 
And  dream  your  time  away  ? 


EXPOSTULATION  AND    REPLY. 


II 


"  Where  are  your  books  ?  —  that  light  bequeathed         5 

To  Beings  else  forlorn  and  blind  ! 

Up !  up  !  and  drink  the  spirit  breathed 

From  dead  men  to  their  kind. 

"  You  look  round  on  your  Mother  Earth, 

As  if  she  for  no  purpose  bore  you ;  lo 

As  if  you  were  her  first-born  birth, 

And  none  had  lived  before  you  !  " 

One  morning  thus,  by  Esthwaite  lake, 

When  life  was  sweet,  I  knew  not  why, 

To  me  my  good  friend  Matthew  spake,  15 

And  thus  I  made  reply  : 

"'  The  eye  —  it  cannot  choose  but  see  ; 

We  cannot  bid  the  ear  be  still; 

Our  bodies  feel,  where'er  they  be, 

Against  or  with  our  will.  20 

"  Nor  less  I  deem  that  there  are  Powers 
Which  of  themselves  our  minds  impress  ; 
That  we  can  feed  this  mind  of  ours 
In  a  wise  passiveness. 

"  Think  you,  'mid  all  this  mighty  sum  25 

Of  things  for  ever  speaking. 
That  nothing  of  itself  will  come. 
But  we  must  still  be  seeking .' 

"  —  Then  ask  not  wherefore,  here,  alone, 

Conversing  as  I  may,  30 

I  sit  upon  this  old  grey  stone, 

Aad  dream  my  time  away."  1798- 


34 


THE    TABLES    TURNED. 


'      ■  THE  tablp:s  turned. 

AN    EVENINi;    SCENE    ON    THE    SAME    SUBJECT. 

Up!   up!   my  Friend,  and  quit  your  books; 
Or  surely  you  '11  grow  double  : 
Up  !   up  !   my  Friend,  and  clear  your  looks  ; 
Why  all  this  toil  and  trouble  ? 

The  sun,  above  the  mountain's  head,  5 

A  freshening  lustre  mellow 

Through  all  the  long  green  fields  has  spread. 

His  first  sweet  evening  yellow. 

Books  !   't  is  a  dull  and  endless  strife  : 

Come,  hear  the  woodland  linnet,  lo 

How  sweet  his  music  !  on  my  life, 

There  's  more  of  wisdom  in  it. 

And  hark  !  how  blithe  the  throstle  sings  I 

He,  too,  is  no  mean  preacher: 

Come  forth  into  the  light  of  things,  15 

Let  Nature  be  your  teacher. 

She  has  a  world  of  ready  wealth. 

Our  minds  and  hearts  to  bless  — 

Spontaneous  wisdom  breathed  by  health. 

Truth  breathed  by  cheerfulness.  '  20 

One  impulse  from  a  vernal  wood 
May  teach  you  more  of  man, 
Of  moral  evil  and  of  good. 
Than  all  the  sages  can. 

Sweet  is  the  lore  which  Nature  brings ;  25 

Our  meddling  intellect 

Mis-shapes  the  beauteous  forms  of  things  :  — 

We  murder  to  dissect. 


THE    COMPLAINT. 


35 


Enough  of  Science  and  of  Art ; 

Close  up  those  barren  leaves  ;  3° 

Come  forth,  and  bring  with  you  a  heart 

That  watches  and  receives.  1798- 


THE    COMPLAINT 


OF    A    FORSAKEN     INDIAN    WOMAN. 


Written  at  Alfoxden,  where  I  read  Hearne's  Journey  with  deep  interest. 
It  was  composed  for  the  volume  of  Lyrical  Ballads. 

When  a  Northern  Indian,  from  sickness,  is  unable  to  continue  his  journey 
with  his  companions,  he  is  left  behind,  covered  over  with  deer-skins,  and  is 
supplied  with  water,  food,  and  fuel,  if  the  situation  of  the  place  will  afford  it. 
He  is  informed  of  the  track  w^hich  his  companions  intend  to  pursue,  and  if  he 
be  unable  to  follow,  or  overtake  them,  he  perishes  alone  in  the  desert ;  unless 
he  should  have  the  good  fortune  to  fall  in  with  some  other  tribes  of  Indians. 
The  females  are  equally,  or  still  more,  exposed  to  the  same  fate.  See  that 
very  interesting  work,  \^.v.\^{CH^e.'s  Journey  from  Hudson^  s  Bay  to  the  Northern 
Ocean.  In  the  high  northern  latitudes,  as  the  same  writer  informs  us,  when 
the  northern  lights  vary  their  position  in  the  air,  they  make  a  rustling  and  a 
crackling  noise,  as  alluded  to  in  the  following  poem. 


Before  I  see  another  day, 

Oh  let  my  body  die  away  ! 

In  sleep  I  heard  the  northern  gleams  ; 

The  stars,  they  were  among  my  dreams 

In  rustling  conflict  through  the  skies, 

I  heard,  I  saw  the  flashes  drive, 

And  yet  they  are  upon  my  eyes. 

And  yet  I  am  alive; 

Before  I  see  another  day, 

Oh  let  my  body  die  away ! 


36 


THE    COMPLAINT. 


My  fire  is  dead :   it  knew  no  pain ; 

Yet  is  it  dead,  and  I  remain: 

All  stiff  with  ice  the  ashes  lie  ; 

And  they  are  dead,  and  I  will  die. 

When  I  was  well,  I  wished  to  live,  15 

For  clothes,  for  warmth,  for  food,  and  fire ; 

But  they  to  me  no  joy  can  give. 

No  pleasure  now,  and  no  desire. 

Then  here  contented  will  I  lie  ! 

Alone,  I  cannot  fear  to  die.  20 


Alas  !  ye  might  have  dragged  me  on 

Another  day,  a  single  one  I 

Too  soon  I  yielded  to  despair ; 

Why  did  ye  listen  to  my  prayer  ? 

When  ye  were  gone  my  limbs  were  stronger;  25 

And  oh,  how  grievously  I  rue. 

That,  afterwards,  a  little  longer. 

My  friends,  I  did  not  follow  you  ! 

For  strong  and  without  pain  I  lay. 

Dear  friends,  when  ye  were  gone  away.  3° 


My  Child  !  they  gave  thee  to  another, 

A  woman  who  was  not  thy  mother. 

When  from  my  arms  my  Babe  they  took, 

On  me  how  strangely  did  he  look  ! 

Through  his  whole  body  something  ran,  35 

A  most  strange  working  did  I  see  ; 

—  As  if  he  strove  to  be  a  man. 

That  he  might  pull  the  sledge  for  me: 


THE    COMPLAINT. 


37 


And  then  he  stretched  his  arms,  how  wild  ! 

Oh  mercy  !  like  a  helpless  child  !  4° 


My  little  joy  !  my  little  pride  ! 
In  two  days  more  I  must  have  died. 
Then  do  not  weep  and  grieve  for  me ; 
I  feel  I  must  have  died  with  thee. 

0  wind,  that  o'er  my  head  art  flying  45 
The  way  my  friends  their  course  did  bend, 

1  should  not  feel  the  pain  of  dying, 
Could  I  with  thee  a  message  send  ; 
Too  soon,  my  friends,  ye  went  away  ; 

For  I  had  many  things  to  say.  5° 


I  '11  follow  you  across  the  snow  ; 

Ye  travel  heavily  and  slow  ; 

In  spite  of  all  my  weary  pain, 

I  '11  look  upon  your  tents  again. 

—  My  fire  is  dead,  and  snowy  white  55 

The  water  which  beside  it  stood  ; 

The  wolf  has  come  to  me  to-night. 

And  he  has  stolen  away  my  food. 

For  ever  left  alone  am  I  ; 

Then  wherefore  should  I  fear  to  die .'  6o 


Young  as  I  am,  my  course  is  run, 

I  shall  not  see  another  sun  ; 

I  cannot  lift  my  limbs  to  know 

If  they  have  any  life  or  no. 

My  poor  forsaken  Child,  if  I 

For  once  could  have  thee  close  to  me. 


38        THE    OLD    CUMBERLAND   BEGGAR. 

With  happy  heart  I  then  would  die, 
And  my  last  thought  would  happy  be  ; 
But  thou,  dear  Babe,  art  far  away, 

Nor  shall  I  see  another  day.  7o 

1798. 


THE   OLD    CUMBERLAND    BEGGAR. 

The  class  of  Beggars,  to  which  the  Old  Man  here  described  belongs,  will 
probably  soon  be  extinct.  It  consisted  of  poor,  and,  mostly,  old  and  infirm 
persons,  who  confined  themselves  to  a  stated  round  in  their  neighbourhood, 
and  had  certain  fixed  days,  on  which,  at  different  houses,  they  regularly 
received  alms,  sometimes  in  money,  but  mostly  in  provisions. 

I  SAW  an  aged  Beggar  in  my  walk; 

And  he  was  seated,  by  the  highway  side, 

On  a  low  structure  of  rude  masonry 

Built  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  hill,  that  they 

Who  lead  their  horses  down  the  steep  rough  road  5 

May  thence  remount  at  ease.     The  aged  Man 

Had  placed  his  staff  across  the  broad  smooth  stone 

That  overlays  the  pile  ;  and,  from  a  bag 

All  white  with  flour,  the  dole  of  village  dames, 

He  drew  his  scraps  and  fragments,  one  by  one ;  10 

And  scanned  them  with  a  fixed  and  serious  look 

Of  idle  computation.      In  the  sun, 

Upon  the  second  step  of  that  small  pile. 

Surrounded  by  those  wild,  unpeopled  hills, 

He  sat,  and  ate  his  food  in  solitude:   •  ^5 

And  ever,  scattered  from  his  palsied  hand, 

That,  still  attempting  to  prevent  the  waste, 

Was  bafified  still,  the  crumbs  in  little  showers 

Fell  on  the  ground  ;  and  the  small  mountain  birds. 

Not  venturing  yet  to  peck  their  destined  meal,  20 


THE    OLD    Ci'MBERLANI)   BEGGAR.  39 

Approached  within  the  length  of  half  his  staff. 

Him  from  my  childhood  have  I  known  ;  and  then 
He  was  so  old,  he  seems  not  older  now ; 
He  travels  on,  a  solitary  Man, 

So  helpless  in  appearance,  that  for  him  25 

The  sauntering  Horseman  throws  not  with  a  slack 
And  careless  hand  his  alms  upon  the  ground, 
But  stops,  —  that  he  may  safely  lodge  the  coin 
Within  the  old  Man's  hat  ;  nor  quits  him  so, 
But  still,  when  he  has  given  his  horse  the  rein,  3° 

Watches  the  aged  Beggar  with  a  look 
Sidelong,  and  half-reverted.      She  who  tends 
The  toll-gate,  when  in  summer  at  her  door 
She  turns  her  wheel,  if  on  the  road  she  sees 
The  aged  beggar  coming,  quits  her  work,  35 

And  lifts  the  latch  for  him  that  he  may  pass. 
The  post-boy,  when  his  rattling  wheels  o'ertake 
The  aged  Beggar  in  the  woody  lane. 
Shouts  to  him  from  behind  ;  and  if,  thus  warned. 
The  old  man  does  not  change  his  course,  the  boy  40 

Turns  with  less  noisy  wheels  to  the  roadside, 
And  passes  gently  by,  without  a  curse 
Upon  his  lips,  or  anger  at  his  heart. 

He  travels  on,  a  solitary  Man  ; 
His  age  has  no  companion.     On  the  ground  45 

His  eyes  are  turned,  and,  as  he  moves  along. 
They  move  along  the  ground;  and,  evermore, 
Instead  of  common  and  habitual  sight 
Of  fields  with  rural  works,  of  hill  and  dale. 
And  the  blue  sky,  one  little  span  of  earth  5° 

Is  all  his  prospect.     Thus,  from  day  to  day, 
Bow-bent,  his  eyes  forever  on  the  ground. 
He  plies  his  weary  journey  ;  seeing  still. 
And  seldom  knowing  that  he  sees,  some  straw, 


40 


THE    OLD    CUiMBEKLAAD    BEGGAR. 


Some  scattered  leaf,  or  marks  which,  in  one  track,  55 

The  nails  of  cart  or  chariot-wheel  have  left 

Impressed  on  the  white  road,  —  in  the  same  line, 

At  distance  still  the  same.     Poor  Traveller  ! 

His  staff  trails  with  him  ;  scarcely  do  his  feet 

Disturb  the  summer  dust  ;   he  is  so  still  60 

In  look  and  motion,  that  the  cottage  curs, 

Ere  he  has  passed  the  door,  will  turn  away. 

Weary  of  barking  at  him.     Boys  and  girls, 

The  vacant  and  the  busy,  maids  and  youths. 

And  urchins  newly  breeched  —  all  pass  him  by  :  65 

Him  even  the  slow-paced  waggon  leaves  behind. 

But  deem  not  this  Man  useless.  —  Statesmen !  ye 
Who  are  so  restless  in  your  wisdom,  ye 
Who  have  a  broom  still  ready  in  your  hands 
To  rid  the  world  of  nuisances  ;  ye  proud,  7° 

Heart-swoln,  while  in  your  pride  ye  contemplate 
Your  talents,  power,  or  wisdom,  deem  him  not 
A  burthen  of  the  earth  !    'T  is  Nature's  law 
That  none,  the  meanest  of  created  things. 
Of  forms  created  the  most  vile  and  brute,  75 

The  dullest  or  most  noxious,  should  exist 
Divorced  from  good  —  a  spirit  and  pulse  of  good, 
A  life  and  soul,  to  every  mode  of  being 
Inseparably  linked.     Then  be  assured 
That  least  of  all  can  aught  — that  ever  owned  80 

The  heaven-regarding  eye  and  front  sublime 
Which  man  is  born  to  —  sink,  howe'er  depressed. 
So  low  as  to  be  scorned  without  a  sin ; 
Without  offence  to  God  cast  out  of  view ; 
Like  the  dry  remnant  of  a  garden-fiower  85 

Whose  seeds  are  shed,  or  as  an  implement 
Worn  out  and  worthless.     While  from  door  to  door. 
This  Old  Man  creep.s,  the  villagers  in  him 


THE    OLD    CUMBERLAAU   BEGUAR.  41 

Behold  a  record  which  together  binds 

Past  deeds  and  offices  of  charity,  9° 

Else  unremembered,  and  so  keeps  alive 

The  kindly  mood  in  hearts  which  lapse  of  years, 

And  that  half-wisdom  half-experience  gives, 

Make  slow  to  feel,  and  by  sure  steps  resign 

To  selfishness  and  cold  oblivious  cares.  95 

Among  the  farms  and  solitary  huts, 

'Hamlets  and  thinly-scattered  villages, 

Where'er  the  aged  Beggar  takes  his  rounds. 

The  mild  necessity  of  use  compels 

To  acts  of  love;   and  habit  does  the  work  100 

Of  reason  ;  yet  prepares  that  after-joy 

Which  reason  cherishes.      And  thus  the  soul. 

By  that  sweet  taste  of  pleasure  unpursued. 

Doth  find  herself  insensibly  disposed 

To  virtue  and  true  goodness. 

Some  there  are  105 

By  their  good  works  exalted,  lofty  minds 
And  meditative,  authors  of  delight 
And  happiness,  which  to  the  end  of  time 
Will  live,  and  spread,  and  kindle  :  even  such  minds 
In  childhood,  from  this  solitary  Being,  "o 

Or  from  like  wanderer,  haply  have  received 
(A  thing  more  precious  far  than  all  that  books 
Or  the  solicitudes  of  love  can  do  !) 
That  first  mild  touch  of  sympathy  and  thought, 
In  which  they  found  their  kindred  with  a  world  ''S 

Where  want  and  sorrow  were.     The  easy  man 
Who  sits  at  his  own  door,  —  and.  like  the  pear 
That  overhangs  his  head  from  the  green  wall. 
Feeds  in  the  sunshine ;  the  robust  and  young. 
The  prosperous  and  unthinking,  they  who  live  120 

Sheltered,  and  flourish  in  a  little  grove 


42 


TJJl:    OLD    CUMBERLAND   BEGGAR. 


Of  their  own  kindred;  —  all  behold  in  him 

A  silent  monitor,  which  on  their  minds 

Must  needs  impress  a  transitory  thought 

Of  self-congratulation,  to  the  heart  125 

Of  each  recalling  his  peculiar  boons, 

His  charters  and  exemptions  ;  and,  perchance, 

Though  he  to  no  one  give  the  fortitude 

And  circumspection  needful  to  preserve 

His  present  blessings,  and  to  husbaijd  up  130 

The  respite  of  the  season,  he,  at  least. 

And  't  is  no  vulgar  service,  makes  them  felt. 

Yet  further.  —  Many,  I  believe,  there  are 
Who  live  a  life  of  virtuous  decency. 

Men  who  can  hear  the  Decalogue  and  feel  135 

No  self-reproach ;   who  of  the  moral  law 
Established  in  the  land  where  they  abide 
Are  strict  observers ;  and  not  negligent 
In  acts  of  love  to  those  with  whom  they  dwell. 
Their  kindred,  and  the  children  of  their  blood.  140 

Praise  be  to  such,  and  to  their  slumbers  peace  ! 

But  of  the  poor  man  ask,  the  abject  poor ; 
Go,  and  demand  of  him,  if  there  be  here 
In  this  cold  abstinence  from  evil  deeds, 
And  these  inevitable  charities,  MS 

Wherewith  to  satisfy  the  human  soul  ? 
No  —  man  is  dear  to  man;  the  poorest  poor 
Long  for  some  moments  in  a  weary  life 
When  they  can  know  and  feel  that  they  have  been, 
Themselves,  the  fathers  and  the  dealers-out  15° 

Of  some  small  blessings ;  have  been  kind  to  such 
As  needed  kindness,  for  this  single  cause, 
That  we  have  all  of  us  one  human  heart. 
—  Such  pleasure  is  to  one  kind  Being  known, 
My  neighbour,  when  with  punctual  care,  each  week       iS5 


THE    OLD    CUMBERLAND   BEGGAR. 


43 


Duly  as  Friday  comes,  though  pressed  herself 

By  her  own  wants,  she  from  her  store  of  meal 

Takes  one  unsparing  handful  for  the  scrip 

Of  this  old  Mendicant,  and,  from  her  door 

Returning  with  exhilarated  heart,  i6o 

Sits  by  her  fire,  and  builds  her  hope  in  heaven. 

Then  let  him  pass,  a  blessing  on  his  head  1 
And  while  in  that  vast  solitude  to  which 
The  tide  of  things  has  borne  him,  he  appears 
To  breathe  and  live  but  for  himself  alone,  165 

Unblamed,  uninjured,  let  him  bear  about 
The  good  which  the  benignant  law  of  Heaven 
Has  hung  around  him:  and,  while  life  is  his. 
Still  let  him  prompt  the  unlettered  villagers 
To  tender  offices  and  pensive  thoughts.  170 

—  Then  let  him  pass,  a  blessing  on  his  head  ! 
And,  long  as  he  can  wander,  let  him  breathe 
The  freshness  of  the  valleys ;  let  his  blood 
Struggle  with  frosty  air  and  winter  snows  ; 
And  let  the  chartered  wind  that  sweeps  the  heath  175 

Beat  his  grey  locks  against  his  withered  face. 
Reverence  the  hope  whose  vital  anxiousness 
Gives  the  last  human  interest  to  his  heart. 
May  never  House,  misnamed  of  Industry, 
Make  him  a  captive  !  —  for  that  pent-up  din,  180 

Those  life-consuming  sounds  that  clog  the  air. 
Be  his  the  natural  silence  of  old  age  ! 
Let  him  be  free  of  mountain  solitudes ; 
And  have  around  him,  whether  heard  or  not. 
The  pleasant  melody  of  woodland  birds.  185 

Few  are  his  pleasures  :  if  his  eyes  have  now 
Been  doomed  so  long  to  settle  upon  earth 
That  not  without  some  effort  they  behold 
The  countenance  of  the  horizontal  sun, 


44  ANIMAL    TRANQUILLITY  AND   DECAY. 

Rising  or  setting,  let  the  light  at  least  190 

P^ind  a  free  entrance  to  their  languid  orbs. 

And  let  him,  where  and  ^ohen  he  will,  sit  down 

Beneath  the  trees,  or  on  a  grassy  bank 

Of  highway  side,  and  with  the  little  birds 

Share  his  chance-gathered  meal ;   and,  finally,  i95 

As  in  the  eye  of  Nature  he  has  lived, 

So  in  the  eye  of  Nature  let  him  die  ! 

I 797-1 798. 


ANIMAL   TRANQUILLITY    AND    DECAY. 

The  little  hedgerow  birds, 
That  peck  along  the  roads,  regard  him  not. 
He  travels  on,  and  in  his  face,  his  step, 
His  gait,  is  one  expression :  every  limb. 
His  look  and  bending  figure,  all  bespeak 
A  man  who  does  not  move  with  pain,  but  moves 
With  thought.  —  He  is  insensibly  subdued 
To  settled  quiet  :  he  is  one  by  whom 
All  effort  seems  forgotten  ;  one  to  whom 
Long  patience  hath  such  mild  composure  given, 
That  patience  now  doth  seem  a  thing  of  which 
He  hath  no  need.     He  is  by  nature  led 
To  peace  so  perfect  that  the  young  behold 
With  envy,  what  the  Old  Man  hardly  feels. 


1798. 


LINES. 


LINES 


45 


COMPOSED  A  FEW  MILES  ABOVE  TINTERN  ABBEY,  ON  REVISIT- 
ING THE  BANKS  OF  THE  WYE  DURING  A  TOUR.  JLLY  I3, 
1798. 

Five  years  have  past ;   five  summers,  with  the  length 

Of  five  long  winters  !  and  again  I  hear 

These  waters,  rolling  from  their  mountain-springs 

With  a  soft  inland  murmur.^  —  Once  again 

Do  I  behold  these  steep  and  lofty  clifts,  5 

That  on  a  wild  secluded  scene  impress 

Thoughts  of  more  deep  seclusion :  and  connect 

The  landscape  with  the  quiet  of  the  sky. 

The  day  is  come  when  I  again  repose 

Here,  under  this  dark  sycamore,  and  view  lo 

These  plots  of  cottage-ground,  these  orchafd-tufts, 

Which  at  this  season,  with  their  unripe  fruits. 

Are  clad  in  one  green  hue,  and  lose  themselves 

'Mid  groves  and  copses.     Once  again  I  see 

These  hedge-rows,  hardly  hedge-rows,  little  lines  15 

Of  sportive  wood  run  wild  :  these  pastoral  farms, 

Green  to  the  very  door ;   and  wreaths  of  smoke 

Sent  up,  in  silence,  from  among  the  trees  1 

With  some  uncertain  notice,  as  might  seem 

Of  vagrant  dwellers  in  the  houseless  woods,  20 

Or  of  some  Hermit's  cave,  where  by  his  fire 

The  Hermit  sits  alone. 

These  beauteous  forms. 
Through  a  long  absence,  have  not  been  to  me 
As  is  a  landscape  to  a  blind  man's  eye  : 
But  oft,  in  lonely  rooms,  and  'mid  the  din  25 

Of  towns  and  cities,  I  have  owed  to  them 
In  hours  of  weariness,  sensations  sweet, 

1  The  river  is  not  affected  by  the  tides  a  few  miles  above  iintern. 


46 


LINES. 


Felt  in  the  blood,  and  felt  along  the  heart ; 

And  passing  even  into  my  purer  mind, 

With  tranquil  restoration :  —  feelings  too  30 

Of  unremembered  pleasure  :  such,  perhaps, 

As  have  no  slight  or  trivial  influence 

On  that  best  portion  of  a  good  man's  life, 

His  little,  nameless,  unremembered,  .acts     

Of  kindness  and  of  love.     Nor  less,  I  trust,  35 

To  them  I  may  have  ovi^ed  another  gift. 

Of  aspect  more  sublime  ;  that  blessed  mood,  ,  ^-j   '.' 

In  which  the  burthen  of  the  mystery,  ; 

In  which  the  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 

Of  all  this  unintelligible  world,  40 

Is  lightened  :  —  that  serene  and  blessed  mood 

In  which  the  affections  gently  lead  us  on,  — 

Until,  the  breath  of  this  corporeal  frame 

And  even  the  motion  of  our  human  blood 

Almost  suspended,  we  are  laid  asleep  45 

In  body,  and  become  a  living  soul : 

While  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 

Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy. 

We  see  into  the  life  of  things. 

If  this  "" 

Be  but  a  vain  belief,  yet,  oh  !  how  oft  —  50 

In  darkness  and  amid  the  many  shapes 
Of  joyless  daylight ;  when  the  fretful  stir 
Unprofitable,  and  the  fever  of  the  world, 
Have  hung  upon  the  beatings  of  my  heart  — 
How  oft,  in  spirit,  have  I  turned  to  thee,  55 

O  sylvan  Wye  !  thou  wanderer  thro'  the  woods, 
How  often  has  my  spirit  turned  to  thee  ! 

And  now,  with  gleams  of  half-extinguished  thought, 
With  many  recognitions  dim  and  faint. 
And  somewhat  of  a  sad  perplexity,  60 


LINES. 


47 


The  picture  of  the  mind  revives  again  : 

While  here  I  stand,  not  only  with  the  sense 

Of  present  pleasure,  but  with  pleasing  thoughts 

That  in  this  moment  there  is  life  and  food 

For  future  years.      And  so  I  dare  to  hope,  65 

Though  changed,  no  doubt,  from  what  I  was  when  first      — 

I  came  among  these  hills ;  when  like  a  roe 

I  bounded  o'er  the  mountains,  by  the  sides 

Of  the  deep  rivers,  and  the  lonely  streams,  ,  ,1 ' 

Wherever  nature  led  :  more  like  a  man  7° 

Flying  from  something  that  he  dreads,  than  one 

Who  sought  the  thing  he  loved.      For  nature  then 

(The  coarser  pleasures  of  my  boyish  days, 

And  theij-  glad  animal  movements  all  gone  by) 

To  me  was  all  in  all.  —  I  cannot  paint  75 

What  then  I  was.     The  sounding  cataract 

Haunted  me  like  a  passion  ;  the  tall  rock. 

The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 

Their  colours  and  their  forms,  were  then  to  me 

An  appetite  ;  a  feeling  and  a  love,  80 

That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm. 

By  thought  supplied,  nor  any  interest 

Unborrowed  from  the  eye.  —  That  time  is  past. 

And  all  its  aching  joys  are  now  no  more. 

And  all  its  dizzy  raptures.      Not  for  this  85 

Faint  I,  nor  mourn,  nor  murmur ;  other  gifts 

Have  followed ;  for  such  loss,  I  would  believe, 

Abundant  recompence.      For  I  have  learned 

To  look  on  nature,  not  as  in  the  hour 

Of  thoughtless  youth  ;  but  hearing  oftentimes  9° 

The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity. 

Nor  harsh  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 

To  chasten  and  subdue.      And  I  have  felt     \ 

A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 


48  LINES.  ijVK^.,^'^. 

Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  subhme,  i/    ..  95 

Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused,  li^   \^^-. 

Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 

And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 

And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man  ; 

A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels  100 

All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought. 

And  rolls  through  all  things^    Therefore  am  I  still 

A  lover  of  the  meadows  and  the  woods, 

And  mountains ;  and  of  all  that  we  behold 

From  this  green  earth  ;  of  all  the  mighty  world  105 

Of  eye,  and  ear,  —  both  what  they  half  create.^ 

And  what  perceive  ;  well  pleased  to  recognise 

In  nature  and  the  language  of  the  sense, 

The  anchor  of  my  purest  thoughts,  the  nurse, 

The  guide,  the  guardian  of  my  heart,  and  soul  no 

Of  all  my  moral  being. 

Nor  perchance, 
If  I  were  not  thus  taught,  should  I  the  more 
Suffer  my  genial  spirits  to  decay : 
For  thou  art  with  me  here  upon  the  banks 
Of  this  fair  river;  thou  my  dearest  Friend,  "5 

My  dear,  dear  Friend  ;  and  in  thy  voice  I  catch 
The  language  of  my  former  heart,  and  read 
My  former  pleasures  in  the  shooting  lights 
Of  thy  wild  eyes.      Oh  !   yet  a  little  while 
May  I  behold  in  thee  what  I  was  once,  120 

My  dear,  dear  Sister !  and  this  prayer  I  make, 
Knowing  that  Nature  never  did  betray 
The  heart  that  loved  her  ;  't  is  her  privilege, 
Through  all  the  years  of  this  our  life,  to  lead 
From  joy  to  joy  :  for  she  can  so  inform  125 

^  This   line   has   a  close    resemblance    to   an    admirable    line  of 
Young's,  the  exact  expression  of  which  I  do  not  recollect. 


LINES. 


49 


The  mind  that  is  within  us,  so  impress 

With  quietness  and  beauty,  and  so  feed 

With  lofty  thoughts,  that  neither  evil  tongues, 

Rash  judgments,  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men, 

Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all  130 

The  dreary  intercourse  of  daily  life. 

Shall  e'er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 

Our  cheerful  faith,  that  all  which  we  behold 

Is  full  of  blessings.     Therefore  let  the  moon 

Shine  on  thee  in  thy  solitary  walk  ;  135 

And  let  the  misty  mountain-winds  be  free 

To  blow  against  thee  :  and,  in  after  years, 

When  these  wild  ecstasies  shall  be  matured 

Into  a  sober  pleasure ;  when  thy  mind 

Shall  be  a  mansion  for  all  lovely  forms,  140 

Thy  memory  be  as  a  dwelling-place 

For  all  sweet  sounds  and  harmonies  ;  oh  !  then. 

If  solitude,  or  fear,  or  pain,  or  grief, 

Should  be  thy  portion,  with  what  healing  thoughts 

Of  tender  joy  wilt  thou  remember  me,  MS 

And  these  my  exhortations  !     Nor,  perchance  — 

If  I  should  be  where  I  no  more  can  hear 

Thy  voice,  nor  catch  from  thy  wild  eyes  these  gleams 

Of  past  existence  —  wilt  thou  then  forget 

That  on  the  banks  of  this  delightful  stream  15° 

We  stood  together  ;  and  that  I,  so  long 

A  worshipper  of  Nature,  hither  came 

Unwearied  in  that  service  :  rather  say 

With  warmer  love  —  oh  !  with  far  deeper  zeal 

Of  holier  love.     Nor  wilt  thou  then  forget,  iSS 

That  after  many  wanderings,  many  years 

Of  absence,  these  steep  woods  and  lofty  cliffs. 

And  this  green  pastoral  landscape,  were  to  me 

More  dear,  both  for  themselves  and  for  thv  sake  ! 

1798. 


5° 


THERE    WAS   A    BOY. 


THERE  WAS  A  BOY. 


There  was  a  Boy ;  ye  knew  him  well,  ye  cliffs 

And  islands  of  Winander  !  —  many  a  time, 

At  evening,  when  the  earliest  stars  began 

To  move  along  the  edges  of  the  hills, 

Rising  or  setting,  would  he  stand  alone,  5 

Beneath  the  trees,  or  by  the  glimmering  lake  ; 

And  there,  with  fingers  interwoven,  both  hands 

Pressed  closely  palm  to  palm  and  to  his  mouth 

Uplifted,  he,  as  through  an  instrument, 

Blew  mimic  hootings  to  the  silent  owls,  lo 

That  they  might  answer  him.  —  And  they  would  shout 

Across  the  watery  vale,  and  shout  again. 

Responsive  to  his  call,  —  with  quivering  peals, 

And  long  halloos,  and  screams,  and  echoes  loud 

Redoubled  and  redoubled  ;  concourse  wild  15 

Of  jocund  din  !     And,  when  there  came  a  pause 

Of  silence  such  as  baffled  his  best  skill : 

Then,  sometimes,  in  that  silence,  while  he  hung 

Listening,  a  gentle  shock  of  mild  surprise 

Has  carried  far  into  his  heart  the  voice  20 

Of  mountain-torrents  ;  or  the  visible  scene 

Would  enter  unawares  into  his  mind 

With  all  its  solemn  imagery,  its  rocks. 

Its  woods,  and  that  uncertain  heaven  received 

Into  the  bosom  of  the  steady  lake.  25 

This  boy  was  taken  from  his  mates,  and  died 

In  childhood,  ere  he  was  full  twelve  years  old. 

Preeminent  in  beauty  is  the  vale 

Where  he  was  born  and-bred  :  the  church-yard  hangs 

Upon  a  slope  above  the  village-school ;  3° 

And,  through  that  church-yard  when  my  way  has  led 

On  summer-evenings,  I  believe,  that  there 


"STRANGE   FITS    OF  PASSION." 

A  long  half-hour  together  I  have  stood 

Mute  —  looking  at  the  grave  in  which  he  lies  ! 

•79S- 


SI 


Straxge  fits  of  passion  have  1  known  : 

And  I  will  dare  to  tell, 
But  in  the  Lover's  ear  alone. 

What  once  to  me  befell. 

When  she  I  loved  looked  every  day  5 

Fresh  as  a  rose  in  June, 
I  to  her  cottage  bent  my  way, 

Beneath  an  evening-moon. 

Upon  the  moon  I  fixed  my  eye, 

All  over  the  wide  lea ;  lo 

With  quickening  pace  my  horse  drew  nigh 

Those  paths  so  dear  to  me. 

And  now  we  reached  the  orchard-plot : 

And,  as  we  climbed  the  hill, 
The  sinking  moon  to  Lucy's  cot  iS 

Came  near,  and  nearer  still. 

In  one  of  those  sweet  dreams  I  slept, 

Kind  Nature's  gentlest  boon  ! 
And  all  the  while  my  eyes  I  kept 

On  the  descending  moon.  20 

My  horse  moved  on  ;  hoof  after  hoof 

He  raised,  and  never  stopped  : 
When  down  behind  the  cottage  roof. 

At  once,  the  bright  moon  dropped. 


52 


"SHE   DWELT  AMONG." 

What  fond  and  wayward  thoughts  will  slide  25 

Into  a  Lover's  head  ! 
"O  mercy!  "  to  myself  I  cried, 

"  If  Lucy  should  be  dead  !  " 

1799- 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Besides  the  springs  of  Dove, 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise 

And  very  "few  to  love  : 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone  5 

Half  hidden  from  the  eye  ! 
—  Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be  ;  10 

But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and,  oh, 
The  difference  to  me  ! 

1799. 


I  TRAVELLED  among  unknown  men, 

In  lands  beyond  the  sea  ; 
Nor,  England  !   did  I  know  till  then 

What  love  I  bore  to  thee. 

'T  is  past,  that  melancholy  dream  ! 

Nor  will  I  quit  thy  shore 
A  second  time ;  for  still  I  seem 

To  love  thee  more  and  more. 

Among  thy  mountains  did  I  feel 

The  joy  of  my  desire  ; 
And  she  I  cherished  turned  her  wheel 

Beside  an  English  fire. 


THREE    YEARS   SHE    GREW." 


53 


Thy  mornings  showed,  thy  nights  concealed 

The  bowers  where  Lucy  played  ; 
And  thine,  too,  is  the  last  green  field  15 

That  Lucy's  eyes  surveyed. 


1799. 


Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower, 
Then  Nature  said,  "A  lovelier  flower 

On  earth  was  never  sown  ; 
This  Child  I  to  myself  will  take  ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make  5 

A  Lady  of  my  own. 

"  Myself  will  to  my  darling  be 
Both  law  and  impulse :  and  with  me 

The  Girl,  in  rock  and  plain. 
In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower,  10 

Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 

To  kindle  or  restrain. 

"  She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  across  the  lawn. 

Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ;  ^5 

And  her's  shall  be  the  breathing  balm, 
And  her's  the  silence  and  the  calm 

Of  mute  insensate  things. 

"  The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her  ;  for  her  the  willow  bend  ;  20 

Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 
Even  in  the  motions  of  the  Storm 
Grace  that  shall  mould  the  Maiden's  form 

By  silent  sympathy. 


54 


"A    SLUMBER." 

"  The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear  25 

To  her  ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 
Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 
And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 

Shall  pass  into  her  face.  3° 

"  And  vital  feelings  of  delight 
Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  height, 

Her  virgin  bosom  swell  ; 
Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give 
While  she  and  I  together  live  35 

Here  in  this  happy  dell." 

Thus  Nature  spake  —  the  work  was  done  — 
How  soon  my  Lucy's  race  was  run  ! 

She  died,  and  left  to  me 
This  heath,  this  calm,  and  quiet  scene;  4° 

The  memory  of  what  has  been. 

And  never  more  will  be. 

1799. 


A  SLUMBER  did  my  spirit  seal; 

I  had  no  human  fears  ; 
She  seemed  a  thing  that  could  not  feel 

The  touch  of  earthly  years. 

No  motion  has  she  now,  no  force  ; 

She  neither  hears  nor  sees ; 
Rolled  round  in  earth's  diurnal  course, 

With  rocks,  and  stones,  and  trees. 


1799. 


A    POET'S   EPITAFH. 


A   POET'S   EPITAPH. 


55 


Art  thou  a  Statist  in  the  van 

Of  public  conflicts  trained  and  bred  ? 
—  First  learn  to  love  one  living  man  ; 

Then  may'st  thou  think  upon  the  dead. 

A  Lawyer  art  thou  .'  —  draw  not  nigh  !  5 

Go,  carry  to  some  fitter  place 
The  keenness  of  that  practised  eye, 

The  hardness  of  that  sallow  face. 

Art  thou  a  Man  of  purple  cheer  ? 

A  rosy  Man,  right  plump  to  see .''  10 

Approach ;  yet.  Doctor,  not  too  near, 

This  grave  no  cushion  is  for  thee. 

Or  art  thou  one  of  gallant  pride, 

A  Soldier,  and  no  man  of  chaff  ? 
Welcome  !  —  but  lay  thy  sword  aside,  1,5 

And  lean  upon  a  peasant's  staff'. 

Physician  art  thou  ?  one,  all  eyes. 

Philosopher  !  a  fingering  slave. 
One  that  would  peep  and  botanize 

Upon  his  mother's  grave  ?  20 

Wrapt  closely  in  thy  sensual  fleece, 

O  turn  aside,  —  and  take,  I  pray. 
That  he  below  may  rest  in  peace. 

Thy  ever-dwindling  soul,  away  ! 

A  Moralist  perchance  appears  ;  25 

Led,  Heaven  knows  how  !  to  this  poor  sod  : 

And  he  has  neither  eyes  nor  ears  ; 
Himself  his  world,  and  his  own  God  ! 


5 6  A    FOET'S   EFJTAPH. 

One  to  whose  smooth-rubbed  soul  can  cling 

Nor  form,  nor  feeling,  great  or  small ;  3° 

A  reasoning,  self-sufficing  thing, 
An  intellectual  All-in-all  ! 

Shut  close  the  door ;  press  down  the  latch  ; 

Sleep  in  thy  intellectual  crust ; 
Nor  lose  ten  tickings  of  thy  watch  35 

Near  this  unprofitable  dust. 

But  who  is  He,  with  modest  looks. 

And  clad  in  homely  russet  brown  ? 
He  murmurs  near  the  running  brooks 

A  music  sweeter  than  their  own.  4° 

He  is  retired  as  noontide  dew. 

Or  fountain  in  a  noon-day  grove  ; 
And  you  must  love  him,  ere  to  you 

He  will  seem  worthy  of  your  love. 

The  outward  shows  of  sky  and  earth,  45 

Of  hill  and  valley,  he  has  viewed ; 
And  impulses  of  deeper  birth 

Have  come  to  him  in  solitude. 

In  common  things  that  round  us  lie 

Some  random  truths  he  can  impart,  —  5° 

The  harvest  of  a  quiet  eye 

That  broods  and  sleeps  on  his  own  heart. 

But  he  is  weak  ;  both  Man  and  Boy, 

Hath  been  an  idler  in  the  land ; 
Contented  if  he  might  enjoy  55 

The  things  which  others  understand. 


I 


LUCY  GRAY. 


57 


—  Come  hither  in  thy  hour  of  strength  ; 

Come,  weak  as  is  a  breaking  wave  ! 
Here  stretch  thy  body  at  full  length  : 

Or  build  thy  house  upon  this  grave.  60 


LUCY  GRAY 
OR,    SOLITUDE. 


1799- 


Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray  : 
And,  when  I  crossed  the  wild, 
I  chanced  to  see  at  break  of  day 
The  solitary  child. 

No  mate,  no  comrade  Lucy  knew ;  5 

She  dwelt  on  a  wide  moor, 

—  The  sweetest  thing  that  ever  grew 

Beside  a  human  door  ! 

You  yet  may  spy  the  fawn  at  play, 

The  hare  upon  the  green  ;  10 

But  the  sweet  face  of  Lucy  Gray 

Will  never  more  be  seen. 

"  To-night  will  be  a  stormy  night  — 

You  to  the  town  must  go  ; 

And  take  a  lantern.  Child,  to  light  »5 

Your  mother  through  the  snow." 

"  That,  Father  !  will  I  gladly  do  : 

'T  is  scarcely  afternoon  — 

The  minster-clock  has  just  struck  two, 

And  yonder  is  the  moon  !  "  20 


58  LUCY   GRAY. 

At  this  the  father  raised  his  hook, 
And  snapped  a  faggot-band  ; 
He  plied  his  work  ;  —  and  Lucy  took 
The  lantern  in  her  hand. 

Not  blither  is  the  mountain  roe :  25 

With  many  a  wanton  stroke 

Her  feet  disperse  the  powdery  snow, 

That  rises  up  like  smoke. 

The  storm  came  on  before  its  time  : 

She  wandered  up  and  down  ;  30 

And  many  a  hill  did  Lucy  climb  : 

But  never  reached  the  town. 

The  wretched  parents  all  that  night 

Went  shouting  far  and  wide  ; 

But  there  was  neither  sound  nor  sight  35 

To  serve  them  for  a  guide. 

At  day-break  on  a  hill  they  stood 

That  overlooked  the  moor  ; 

And  thence  they  saw  the  bridge  of  wood, 

A  furlong  from  their  door.  4° 

They  wept  —  and,  turning  homeward,  cried, 
"  In  heaven  we  all  shall  meet  "  ; 
—  When  in  the  snow  the  mother  spied 
The  print  of  Lucy's  feet. 

Then  downwards  from  the  steep  hill's  edge  45 

They  tracked  the  footmarks  small ; 

And  through  the  broken  hawthorn  hedge, 

And  by  the  long  stone-wall ; 


RUTH. 


59 


And  then  an  open  field  they  crossed  : 

The  marks  were  still  the  same ;  5° 

They  tracked  them  on,  nor  ever  lost ; 

And  to  the  bridge  they  came. 

They  followed  from  the  snowy  bank 

Those  footmarks,  one  by  one, 

Into  the  middle  of  the  plank  ;  55 

And  further  there  were  none  ! 

—  Yet  some  maintain  that  to  this  day 

She  is  a  living  child ; 

That  you  may  see  sweet  Lucy  Gray 

Upon  the  lonesome  wild.  6o 

O'er  rough  and  smooth  she  trips  along, 
And  never  looks  behind  ; 
And  sings  a  solitary  song 
That  whistles  in  the  wind. 

1799. 


RUTH. 


When  Ruth  was  left  half  desolate. 
Her  father  took  another  Mate  ; 
And  Ruth,  not  seven  years  old, 
A  slighted  child,  at  her  own  will 
Went  wandering  over  dale  and  hill, 
In  thoughtless  freedom,  bold. 

And  she  had  made  a  pipe  of  straw. 
And  music  from  that  pipe  could  draw 
Like  sounds  of  winds  and  floods  ; 


6o  RUTH. 

Had  built  a  bower  upon  the  green,  lo 

As  if  she  from  her  birth  had  been 
An  infant  of  the  woods. 

Beneath  lier  father's  roof,  alone 

She  seemed  to  live  ;  her  thoughts  her  own  ; 

Herself  her  own  delight  ;  15 

Pleased  with  herself,  nor  sad,  nor  gay ; 

And,  passing  thus  the  live-long  day, 

She  grew  to  woman's  height. 

There  came  a  Youth  from  Georgia's  shore  — 

A  military  casque  he  wore,  20 

With  splendid  feathers  drest ; 

He  brought  them  from  the  Cherokees ; 

The  feathers  nodded  in  the  breeze, 

And  made  a  gallant  crest. 

From  Indian  blood  you  deem  him  sprung :  25 

But  no  !  he  spake  the  English  tongue. 

And  bore  a  soldier's  name ; 

And,  when  America  was  free 

From  battle  and  from  jeopardy, 

He  'cross  the  ocean  came.  30 

With  hues  of  genius  on  his  cheek 

In  finest  tones  the  Youth  could  speak  : 

—  While  he  was  yet  a  boy. 

The  moon,  the  glory  of  the  sun. 

And  streams  that  murmur  as  they  run,  35 

Had  been  his  dearest  joy. 

He  was  a  lovely  Youth  !     I  guess 
The  panther  in  the  wilderness 
Was  not  so  fair  as  he ; 


RUfh.  6 1 

And.  when  he  chose  to  sport  and  play,  40 

No  dolphin  ever  was  so  gay 
Upon  the  tropic  sea. 

Among  the  Indians  he  had  fought, 

And  with  him  many  tales  he  brought 

Of  pleasure  and  of  fear  ;  45 

Such  tales  as  told  to  any  maid 

By  such  a  Youth,  in  the  green  shade. 

Were  perilous  to  hear. 

He  told  of  girls —  a  happy  rout  ! 

Who  quit  their  fold  with  dance  and  shout,  50 

Their  pleasant  Indian  town. 

To  gather  strawberries  all  day  long; 

Returning  with  a  choral  song 

When  daylight  is  gone  down. 

He  spake  of  plants  that  hourly  change  55 

Their  blossoms,  through  a  boundless  range 

Of  intermingling  hues  ; 

With  budding,  fading,  faded  flowers 

They  stand  the  wonder  of  the  bowers 

From  morn  to  evening  dews.  60 

He  told  of  the  magnolia,  spread 

High  as  a  cloud,  high  over  head  ! 

The  cypj-ess  and  her  spire  : 

—  Of  flowers  that  with  one  scarlet  gleam 

Cover  a  hundred  leagues  and  seem  65 

To  set  the  hills  on  fire. 

The  Youth  of  green  savannahs  spake. 
And  many  an  endless,  endless  lake. 
With  all  its  fairy  crowds 


62  RUTH. 

Of  islands,  that  together  lie  7° 

As  quietly  as  spots  of  sky 
Among  the  evening  clouds. 

"  How  pleasant,"  then  he  said,  "  it  were 

A  fisher  or  a  hunter  there, 

In  sunshine  or  in  shade  75 

To  wander  with  an  easy  mind  ; 

And  build  a  household  fire,  and  find 

A  home  in  every  glade  ! 

"  What  days  and  what  bright  years  !     Ah  me  ! 

Our  life  were  life  indeed,  with  thee  So 

So  passed  in  quiet  bliss. 

And  all  the  while,"  said  he,  "  to  know 

That  we  were  in  a  world  of  woe. 

On  such  an  earth  as  this  !  " 

And  then  he  sometimes  interwove  85 

Fond  thoughts  about  a  father's  love ; 

"  For  there,"  said  he,  "  are  spun 

Around  the  heart  such  tender  ties, 

That  our  own  children  to  our  eyes 

Are  dearer  than  the  sun.  90 

"  Sweet  Ruth  !  and  could  you  go  with  me 

My  helpmate  in  the  woods  to  be, 

Our  shed  at  night  to  rear ; 

Or  run,  my  own  adopted  bride, 

A  sylvan  huntress  at  my  side,  95 

And  drive  the  flying  deer  ! 

"  Beloved  Ruth  !  "  —  No  more  he  said, 
The  wakeful  Ruth  at  midnight  shed 
A  solitary  tear  : 


RUTH.  63 

She  thought  again  —  and  did  agree  100 

With  him  to  sail  across  the  sea, 
And  drive  the  flying  deer. 

"  And  now,  as  fitting  is  and  right, 

We  in  the  church  our  faith  will  plight, 

A  husband  and  a  wife.  "  105 

Even  so  they  did ;   and  1  may  say 

That  to  sweet  Ruth  that  happy  day 

Was  more  than  human  life. 

Through  dream  and  vision  did  she  sink. 

Delighted  all  the  while  to  think  "o 

That  on  those  lonesome  floods, 

And  green  savannahs,  she  should  share 

His  board  with  lawful  joy,  and  bear 

His  name  in  the  wild  woods. 

But,  as  you  have  before  been  told,  "5 

This  Stripling,  sportive,  gay  and  bold, 

And,  with  hfs  dancing  crest. 

So  beautiful,  through  savage  lands 

Had  roamed  about,  with  vagrant  bands 

Of  Indians  in  the  West.  120 

The  wind,  the  tempest  roaring  high. 

The  tumult  of  a  tropic  sky. 

Might  well  be  dangerous  food 

For  him,  a  Youth  to  whom  was  given 

So  much  of  earth  —  so  much  of  heaven,  125 

And  such  impetuous  blood. 

Whatever  in  those  climes  he  found 
Irregular  in  sight  or  sound 
Did  to  his  mind  impart 


64  RUTH. 

A  kindred  impulse,  seemed  allied  130 

To  his  own  powers,  and  justified 
The  workings  of  his  heart. 

Nor  less,  to  feed  voluptuous  thought,. 

The  beauteous  forms  of  nature  wrought. 

Fair  trees  and  gorgeous  flowers;  135 

The  breezes  their  own  languor  lent ; 

The  stars  had  feelings,  which  they  sent 

Into  those  favoured  bowers. 

Yet,  in  his  worst  pursuits,  1  ween 

That  sometimes  there  did  intervene  140 

Pure  hopes  of  high  intent : 

For  passions  linked  to  forms  so  fair 

And  stately,  needs  must  have  their  share 

Of  noble  sentiment. 

But  ill  he  lived,  much  evil  saw,  145 

With  men  to  whom  no  better  law 

Nor  better  life  was  known  ; 

Deliberately,  and  undeceived, 

Those  wild  men's  vices  he  received, 

And  gave  them  back  his  own.  150 

His  genius  and  his  moral  frame 

Were  thus  impaired,  and  he  became 

The  slave  of  low  desires  : 

A  Man  who  without  self-control 

Would  seek  what  the  degraded  soul  155 

Unworthily  admires. 

And  yet  he  with  no  feigned  delight 
Had  wooed  the  Maiden,  day  and  night 
Had  loved  her,  night  and  morn  : 


RUTH. 


65 


What  could  he  less  than  love  a  Maid  160 

Whose  heart  with  so  much  nature  played  ? 
So  kind  and  so  forlorn  ! 

Sometimes,  most  earnestly,  he  said, 

"  O  Ruth  !   I  have  been  worse  than  dead  ; 

False  thoughts,  thoughts  bold  and  vain,  165 

Encompassed  me  on  every  side 

When  I,  in  confidence  and  pride. 

Had  crossed  the  Atlantic  main. 

"  Before  me  shone  a  glorious  world  — 

Fresh  as  a  banner  bright,  unfurled  170 

To  music  suddenly  : 

I  looked  upon  those  hills  and  plains. 

And  seemed  as  if  let  loose  from  chains, 

To  live  at  liberty. 

"  No  more  of  this  :  for  now,  by  thee  *75 

Dear  Ruth  !  more  happily  set  free 

With  nobler  zeal  I  burn  ; 

My  soul  from  darkness  is  released. 

Like  the  whole  sky  when  to  the  east 

The  morning  doth  return."  ^80 

Full  soon  that  better  mind  was  gone  ; 

No  hope,  no  wish  remained,  not  one, — 

They  stirred  him  now  no  more  ; 

New  objects  did  new  pleasure  give. 

And  once  again  he  wished  to  live  '85 

As  lawless  as  before. 

Meanwhile,  as  thus  with  him  it  fared. 
They  for  the  voyage  were  prepared. 
And  went  to  the  sea-shore, 


66  RUTH. 

But,  when  they  thither  came  the  Youth  19° 

Deserted  his  poor  Bride,  and  Ruth 
Could  never  find  him  more. 

God  help  thee  Ruth  !  —  Such  pains  she  had. 

That  she  in  half  a  year  was  mad. 

And  in  a  prison  housed  ;  '95 

And  there,  with  many  a  doleful  song 

Made  of  wild  words,  her  cup  of  wrong 

She  fearfully  caroused. 

Yet  sometimes  milder  hours  she  knew, 

Nor  wanted  sun,  nor  rain,  nor  dew,  200 

Nor  pastimes  of  the  May  ; 

—  They  all  were  with  her  in  her  cell ; 

And  a  clear  brook  with  cheerful  knell 

Did  o'er  the  pebbles  play. 

When  Ruth  three  seasons  thus  had  lain,  205 

There  came  a  respite  to  her. pain  ; 

She  from  her  prison  fled  ; 

But  of  the  Vagrant  none  took  thought  : 

And  where  it  liked  her  best  she  sought 

Her  shelter  and  her  bread.  210 

Among  the  fields  she  breathed  again  : 

The  master-current  of  her  brain 

Ran  permanent  and  free  ; 

And,  coming  to  the  Banks  of  Tone, 

There  did  she  rest ;  and  dwell  alone  215 

Under  the  greenwood  tree. 

The  engines  of  her  brain,  the  tools 
That  shaped  her  sorrow,  rocks  and  pools, 
And  airs  that  gently  stir 


RUTH.  67 

The  vernal  leaves  —  she  loved  them  still ;  220 

Nor  ever  taxed  them  with  the  ill 
Which  had  been  done  to  her. 

A  Barn  her  luinter  bed  supplies  ; 

But,  till  the  warmth  of  summer  skies 

And  summer  days  is  gone,  225 

(And  all  do  in  this  tale  agree) 

She  sleeps  beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 

And  other  home  hath  none. 

An  innocent  life,  yet  far  astray ! 

And  Ruth  will,  long  before  her  day,  23° 

Be  broken  down  and  old  : 

Sore  aches  she  needs  must  have  I  but  less 

Of  mind,  than  body's  wretchedness. 

From  damp,  and  rain,  and  cold. 

If  she  is  prest  by  want  of  food,  235 

She  from  her  dwelling  in  the  wood 

Repairs  to  a  road-side  ; 

And  there  she  begs  at  one  steep  place 

Where  up  and  and  down  with  easy  pace 

The  horsemen  travellers  ride.  240 

That  oaten  pipe  of  hers  is  mute. 

Or  thrown  away  ;  but  with  a  flute 

Her  loneliness  she  cheers  : 

This  flute,  made  of  a  hemlock  stalk. 

At  evening  in  his  homeward  walk  245 

The  Quantock  woodman  hears. 

I,  too,  have  passed  her  on  the  hills 
Setting  her  little  water-mills 
By  spouts  and  fountains  wild  — 


68  INFLUENCES   OF  BEAUTY  AND   FEAR. 

Such  small  machinery  as  she  turned  250 

Ere  she  had  wept,  ere  she  had  mourned, 
A  young  and  happy  Child  ! 

Farewell,  and  when  thy  days  are  told, 

Ill-fated  Ruth,  in  hallowed  mould 

Thy  corpse  shall  buried  be,  255 

For  thee  a  funeral  bell  shall  ring. 

And  all  the  congregation  sing 

A  Christmas  psalm  for  thee. 

1799. 


INFLUENCES    OF    BEAUTY   AND    FEAR    IN    BOYHOOD. 
(from  "the  prelude,"  book  t.) 

Dust  as  we  are,  the  immortal  spirit  grows 
Like  harmony  in  music  ;  there  is  a  dark 
Inscrutable  workmanship  that  reconciles 
Discordant  elements,  makes  them  cling  together 
In  one  society.      How  strange,  that  all  5 

The  terrors,  pains,  and  early  miseries. 
Regrets,  vexations,  lassitudes  interfused 
Within  my  mind,  should  e'er  have  borne  a  part, 
And  that  a  needful  part,  in  making  up 

The  calm  existence  that  is  mine  when  I  'o 

Am  worthy  of  myself  !     Praise  to  the  end ! 
Thanks  to  the  means  which  Nature  deigned  to  employ  ; 
Whether  her  fearless  visitings,  or  those 
That  came  with  soft  alarm,  like  hurtless  light 
Opening  the  peaceful  clouds  ;  or  she  would  use  '5 

Severer  interventions,  ministry 
More  palpable,  as  best  might  suit  her  aim. 


INFLUENCES   OF  BEAUTY  AND   FEAR. 


69 


One  summer  evening  (led  by  her)  I  found 
A  little  boat  tied  to  a  willow  tree 

Within  a  rocky  cave,  its  usual  home.  20 

Straight  I  unloosed  her  chain,  and  stepping  in 
Pushed  from  the  shore.      It  was  an  act  of  stealth 
And  troubled  pleasure,  nor  without  the  voice 
Of  mountain-echoes  did  my  boat  move  on  ; 
Leaving  behind  her  still,  on  either  side,  25 

Small  circles  glittering  idly  in  the  moon. 
Until  they  melted  all  into  one  track 
Of  sparkling  light.     But  now,  like  one  who  rows, 
Proud  of  his  skill,  to  reach  a  chosen  point 
With  an  unswerving  line,  I  fixed  my  view  30 

Upon  the  summit  of  a  craggy  ridge. 
The  horizon's  utmost  boundary  ;  far  above 
Was  nothing  but  the  stars  and  the  grey  sky. 
She  was  an  elfin  pinnace  ;  lustily 

I  dipped  my  oars  into  the  silent  lake,  35 

And,  as  I  rose  upon  the  stroke,  my  boat 
Went  heaving  through  the  water  like  a  swan  ; 
When,  from  behind  that  craggy  steep  till  then 
The  horizon's  bound,  a  huge  peak,  black  and  huge, 
As  if  with  voluntary  power  instinct  40 

Upreared  its  head.     I  struck  and  struck  again, 
And  growing  still  in  stature  the  grim  shape 
Towered  up  between  me  and  the  stars,  and  still. 
For  so  it  seemed,  with  purpose  of  its  own 
And  measured  motion  like  a  living  thing,  45 

Strode  after  me.     With  trembling  oars  I  turned, 
And  through  the  silent  water  stole  my  way 
Back  to  the  covert  of  the  willow  tree ; 
There  in  her  mooring-place  I  left  my  bark,  — 
And  through  the  meadows  homeward  went,  in  grave  5° 

And  serious  mood  ;  but  after  I  had  seen 


•JO  INFLUENCE    OF  NATURAL    OBJECTS. 

That  spectacle,  for  many  days,  my  brain 

Worked  with  a  dim  and  undetermined  sense 

Of  unknown  modes  of  being ;  o'er  my  thoughts 

There  hung  a  darkness,  call  it  solitude  55 

Or  blank  desertion.     No  familiar  shapes 

Remained,  no  pleasant  images  of  trees, 

Of  sea  or  sky,  no  colours  of  green  fields  ; 

But  huge  and  mighty  forms,  that  do  not  live 

Like  living  men,  moved  slowly  through  the  mind         60 

By  day,  and  were  a  trouble  to  my  dreams. 

1 799-1 800. 


INFLUENCE    OF   NATURAL   OBJECTS 

IN    CALLING    FORTH    AND    STRENGTHENING    THE    IMAGINATION    IN 
BOYHOOD    AND    EARLY    YOUTH.       WRITTEN    IN    GERMANY. 

Wisdom  and  Spirit  of  the  universe ! 

Thou  Soul,  that  art  the  Eternity  of  thought ! 

And  giv'st  to  forms  and  images  a  breath 

And  everlasting  motion,  not  in  vain. 

By  day  or  star-light,  thus  from  my  first  dawn  5 

Of  childhood  didst  thou  intertwine  for  me 

The  passions  that  build  up  our  human  soul ; 

Not  with  the  mean  and  vulgar  works  of  Man  ; 

But  with  high  objects,  with  enduring  things, 

With  life  and  nature  ;  purifying  thus  10 

The  elements  of  feeling  and  of  thought, 

And  sanctifying  by  such  discipline 

Both  pain  and  fear,  —  until  we  recognize 

A  grandeur  in  the  beatings  of  the  heart. 

Nor  was  this  fellowship  vouchsafed  to  me  15 

With  stinted  kindness.      In  November  days, 


INFLUENCE    OE    NAIUNAJ.    OBJECTS.  71 

When  vapours  rolling  down  the  valleys  made 

A  lonely  scene  more  lonesome  :  among  woods 

At  noon  ;  and  'mid  the  calm  of  summer  nights, 

When,  by  the  margin  of  the  trembling  lake,  20 

Beneath  the  gloomy  hills,  homeward  I  went 

In  solitude,  such  intercourse  was  mine  : 

Mine  was  it  in  the  fields  both  day  and  night. 

And  by  the  waters,  all  the  summer  long. 

And  in  the  frosty  season,  when  the  sun  25 

Was  set,  and,  visible  for  many  a  mile. 

The  cottage-windows  through  the  twilight  blazed, 

I  heeded  not  the  summons  :  happy  time 

It  was  indeed  for  all  of  us  ;  for  me 

It  was  a  time  of  rapture  !     Clear  and  loud  3° 

The  village-clock  tolled  six  —  I  wheeled  about. 

Proud  and  exulting  like  an  untired  horse 

That  cares  not  for  his  home.  —  All  shod  with  steel 

We  hissed  along  the  polished  ice,  in  games 

Confederate,  imitative  of  the  chase  35 

And  woodland  pleasures, — the  resounding  horn. 

The  pack  loud-chiming,  and  the  hunted  hare. 

So  through  the  darkness  and  the  cold  we  fiew, 

And  not  a  voice  was  idle  :  with  the  din 

Smitten,  the  precipices  rang  aloud  ;  40 

The  leafless  trees  and  every  icy  crag 

Tinkled  like  iron  ;   while  far-distant  hills 

Into  the  tumult  sent  an  alien  sound 

Of  melancholy,  not  unnoticed  while  the  stars. 

Eastward,  were  sparkling  clear,  and  in  the  west  45 

The  orange  sky  of  evening  died  away. 

Not  seldom  from  the  uproar  1  retired 
Into  a  silent  bay,  or  sportively 
Glanced  sideway.  leaving  the  tumultuous  throng, 


72 


NUTTING. 

To  cut  across  the  reflex  of  a  star ;  .  50 

Image,  that,  flying  still  before  me,  gleamed 

Upon  the  glassy  plain  :    and  oftentimes, 

When  we  had  given  our  bodies  to  the  wind, 

And  all  the  shadowy  banks  on  either  side 

Came  sweeping  through  the  darkness,  spinning  still         55 

The  rapid  line  of  motion,  then  at  once 

Have  I,  reclining  back  upon  my  heels, 

Stopped  short ;  yet  still  the  solitary  cliffs 

Wheeled  by  me  —  even  as  if  the  earth  had  rolled 

With  visible  motion  her  diurnal  round  !  60 

Behind  me  did  they  stretch  in  solemn  train, 

Feebler  and  feebler,  and  I  stood  and  watched 

Till  all  was  tranquil  as  a  summer  sea. 

1799. 


NUTTING. 


It  seems  a  day 

(I  speak  of  one  from  many  singled  out), 

One  of  these  heavenly  days  that  cannot  die  ; 

When,  in  the  eagerness  of  boyish  hope, 

I  left  our  cottage-threshold,  sallying  forth 

With  a  huge  wallet  o'er  my  shoulders  slung. 

A  nutting-crook. in  hand  ;  and  turned  my  steps 

Tow'rd  some  far-distant  wood,  a  Figure  quaint, 

Tricked  out  in  proud  disguise  of  cast-off  weeds 

Which  for  that  service  had  been  husbanded, 

By  exhortation  of  my  frugal  Dame  — 

Motley  accoutrement,  of  power  to  smile 

At  thorns,  and  brakes,  and  brambles,  —  and,  in  truth, 

More  ragged  than  need  was !     O'er  pathless  rocks. 


N^l^riNG. 


73 


Through  beds  of  matted  fern,  and  tangled  thickets,  '5 

Forcing  my  way,  I  came  to  one  dear  nook 

Unvisited,  where  not  a  broken  bough 

Drooped  with  its  withered  leaves,  ungracious  sign 

Of  devastation  ;  but  the  hazels  rose 

Tall  and  erect,  with  tempting  clusters  hung,  20 

A  virgin  scene!  —  A  little  while  1  stood, 

Breathing  with  such  suppression  of  the  heart 

As  joy  delights  in  ;  and,  with  wise  restraint 

Voluptuous,  fearless  of  a  rival,  eyed 

The  banquet ;  —  or  beneath  the  trees  I  sate  25 

Among  the  flowers,  and  with  the  flowers  I  played  ; 

A  temper  known  to  those,  who,  after  long 

And  weary  expectation,  have  been  blest 

With  sudden  happiness  beyond  all  hope. 

Perhaps  it  was  a  bower  beneath  whose  leaves  30 

The  violets  of  five  seasons  re-appear 

And  fade,  unseen  by  any  human  eye ; 

Where  fairy  water-breaks  do  murmur  on 

For  ever ;  and  I  saw  the  sparkling  foam. 

And  —  with  my  cheek  on  one  of  those  green  stones  35 

That,  fleeced  with  moss,  under  the  shady  trees, 

Lay  round  me,  scattered  like  a  flock  of  sheep  — 

I  heard  the  murmur  and  the  murmuring  sound. 

In  that  sweet  mood  when  pleasure  loves  to  pay 

Tribute  to  ease ;  and,  of  its  joy  secure,  4° 

The  heart  luxuriates  with  indifferent  things. 

Wasting  its  kindliness  on  stocks  and  stones. 

And  on  the  vacant  air.     Then  up  I  rose. 

And  dragged  to  earth  both  branch  and  bough,  with  crash 

And  merciless  ravage  :  and  the  shady  nook  45 

Of  hazels,  and  the  green  and  mossy  bower, 

Deformed  and  sullied,  patiently  gave  up 

Their  quiet  being:   and,  unless  I  now 


74 


MAI'THEIV- 

Confound  my  present  feelings  with  the  past, 

Ere  from  the  mutilated  bower  I  turned  5° 

Exulting,  rich  beyond  the  wealth  of  kings, 

I  felt  a  sense  of  pain  when  I  beheld 

The  silent  trees,  and  saw  the  intruding  sky  — 

Then,  dearest  Maiden,  move  along  these  shades 

In  gentleness  of  heart ;  with  gentle  hand  55 

Touch  —  for  there  is  a  spirit  in  the  woods. 

1799. 


MATTHEW. 


In  the  School  of  Hawkshead  is  a  tablet,  on  which  are  inscribed,  in  gilt 
■letters,  the  Names  of  the  several  persons  who  have  been  Schoolmasters  there 
since  the  foundation  of  the  School,  with  the  time  at  which  they  entered  upon 
and  quitted  their  office.  Opposite  to  one  of  those  names  the  Author  wrote  the 
following  lines. 

If  Nature,  for  a  favourite  child, 
In  thee  hath  tempered  so  her  clay, 
That  every  hour  thy  heart  runs  wild, 
Yet  never  once  doth  go  astray. 

Read  o'er  these  lines  ;  and  then  review 
This  tablet,  that  thus  humbly  rears 
In  such  diversity  of  hue 
Its  history  of  two  hundred  years. 

— When  through  this  little  wreck  of  fame, 
Cipher  and  syllable  !  thine  eye 
Has  travelled  down  to  Matthew's  name, 
Pause  with  no  common  sympathy. 

And,  if  a  sleeping  tear  should  wake. 
Then  be  it  neither  checked  nor  stayed  : 


THE    TWO   ATKJL   MORNINGS. 


75 


For  Matthew  a  request  I  make  15 

Which  for  himself  he  had  not  made. 

Poor  Matthew,  all  his  frolics  o'er, 

Is  silent  as  a  standing  pool  ; 

Far  from  the  chimney's  merry  roar. 

And  murmur  of  the  village  school.  20 

The  sighs  which  Matthew  heaved  were  sighs 
Of  one  tired  out  with  fun  and  madness  ; 
The  tears  which  came  to  Matthew's  eyes 
Were  tears  of  light,  the  dew  of  gladness. 

Yet,  sometimes,  when  the  secret  cup  25 

Of  still  and  serious  thought  went  round. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  drank  it  up  — 
He  felt  with  spirit  so  profound. 

—  Thou  soul  of  God's  best  earthly  mould  ! 

Thou  happy  Soul !  and  can  it  be  30 

That  these  two  words  of  glittering  gold 

Are  all  that  must  remain  of  thee  ? 

1799. 


THE   TWO    APRIL    MORNINGS. 

We  walked  along,  while  bright  and  red 
Uprose  the  morning  sun  ; 
And  Matthew  stopped,  he  looked,  and  said, 
"  The  will  of  God  be  done  !  '' 

A  village  schoolmaster  was  he,  - 
With  hair  of  glittering  grey ; 
As  blithe  a  man  as  you  could  see 
On  a  spring  holiday. 


76  THE    TWO   APRIL   MORNINGS. 

And  on  that  morning,  through  the  grass, 

And  by  the  steaming  rills,  lo 

We  travelled  merrily,  to  pass 

A  day  among  the  hills. 

"  Our  work,"  said  I,  "  was  well  begun, 

Then,  from  thy  breast  what  thought. 

Beneath  so  beautiful  a  sun,  15 

So  sad  a  sigh  has  brought  ?  " 

A  second  time  did  Matthew  stop ; 

And  fixing  still  his  eye 

Upon  the  eastern  mountain-top, 

To  me  he  made  reply  :  20 

"  Yon  cloud  with  that  long  purple  cleft 
Brings  fresh  into  my  mind 
A  day  like  this  which  I  have  left 
Full  thirty  years  behind. 

"  And  just  above  yon  slope  of  corn  25 

Such  colours,  and  no  other, 
Were  in  the  sky,  that  April  morn. 
Of  this  the  very  brother. 

"  With  rod  and  line  I  sued  the  sport 
Which  that  sweet  season  gave,  3° 

And,  to  the  church-yard  come,  stopped  short 
Beside  my  daughter's  grave. 

"  Nine  summers  had  she  scarcely  seen, 

The  pride  of  all  the  vale  ; 

And  then  she  sang ;  — •  she  would  have  been  35 

A  very  nightingale. 


THE    TWO   APRIL    MORNINGS. 


77 


"  Six  feet  in  earth  my  Emma  lay  ; 

And  yet  I  loved  her  more, 

For  so  it  seemed,  than  till  that  day 

I  e'er  had  loved"  before.  40 

"  And,  turning  from  her  grave,  I  met. 
Beside  the  church-yard  yew, 
A  blooming  Girl,  whose  hair  was  wet 
With  points  of  morning  dew. 

"  A  basket  on  her  head  she  bare  ;  45 

Her  brow  was  smooth  and  white  : 
To  see  a  child  so  very  fair, 
It  was  a  pure  delight  ! 

"  No  fountain  from  its  rocky  cave 

E'er  tripped  with  foot  so  free  ;  5° 

She  seemed  as  happy  as  a  wave 

That  dances  on  the  sea. 

"  There  came  from  me  a  sigh  of  pain 

Which  I  could  ill  confine  ; 

I  looked  at  her,  and  looked  again  :  55 

And  did  not  wish  her  mine  !  " 

Matthew  is  in  his  grave,  yet  now, 

Methinks,  I  see  him  stand, 

As  at  that  moment,  with  a  bough 

Of  wilding  in  his  hand.  60 

1799. 


78 


THE   FOUNTAIN. 
THE    FOUNTAIN. 

A    CONVERSATION. 

We  talked  with  open  heart',  and  tongue 
Affectionate  and  true, 
A  pair  of  friends,  though  I  was  young, 
And  Matthew  seventy-two. 

We  lay  beneath  a  spreading  oak,  5 

Beside  a  mossy  seat  ; 

And  from  the  turf  a  fountain  broke. 

And  gurgled  at  our  feet. 

"  Now,  Matthew  !  "  said  I,  "  let  us  match 

This  water's  pleasant  tune  'o 

With  some  old  border-song,  or  catch 

That  suits  a  summer's  noon  ; 

"  Or  of  the  church-clock  and  the  chimes 

Sing  here  beneath  the  shade. 

That  half-mad  thing  of  witty  rhymes  '5 

Which  you  last  April  made  !  " 

In  silence  Matthew  lay,  and  eyed 

The  spring  beneath  the  tree  ; 

And  thus  the  dear  old  Man  replied. 

The  grey-haired  man  of  glee  :  20 

"  No  check,  no  stay,  this  Streamlet  fears  ; 
How  merrily  it  goes  ! 
'T  will  murmur  on  a  thousand  years. 
And  flow  as  now  it  flows. 

"  And  here,  on  this  delightful  day,  25 

I  cannot  choose  but  think 
How  oft,  a  vigorous  man,  I  lay 
Beside  this  fountain's  brink. 


THE   FOUNTAIN. 


79 


"  My  eyes  are  dim  with  childish  tears, 

My  heart  is  idly  stirred,  30 

For  the  same  sound  is  in  my  ears 

Which  in  those  days  I  heard. 

"  Thus  fares  it  still  in  our  decay  : 

And  yet  the  wiser  mind 

Mourns  less  for  what  age  takes  away  35 

Than  what  it  leaves  behind. 

"  The  blackbird  amid  leafy  trees, 

The  lark  above  the  hill, 

Let  loose  their  carols  when  they  please. 

Are  quiet  when  they  will.  40 

'"  With  Nature  never  do  they  wage 
A  foolish  strife  ;  they  see 
A  happy  youth,  and  their  old  age 
Is  beautiful  and  free  : 

"  But  we  are  pressed  by  heavy  laws  ;  45 

And  often,  glad  no  more. 

We  wear  a  face  of  joy,  because 

We  have  been  glad  of  yore. 

"  If  there  be  one  who  need  bemoan 

His  kindred  laid  in  earth,  50 

The  household  hearts  that  were  his  own  ; 

It  is  the  man  of  mirth. 

''  My  days,  my  Friend,  are  almost  gone. 

My  life  has  been  approved. 

And  many  love  me  ;  but  by  none  55 

Am  I  enough  beloved." 


8o  HART-LEAP   WELL. 

"  Now  both  himself  and  me  he  wrongs, 

The  man  who  thus  complains  ; 

I  live  and  sing  my  idle  songs 

Upon  these  happy  plains  ;  60 

"  And,  Matthew,  for  thy  children  dead 
I  '11  be  a  son  to  thee  !  " 
At  this  he  grasped  my  hand,  and  said, 
"  Alas  !  that  cannot  be." 

We  rose  up  from  the  fountain-side  ;  65 

And  down  the  smooth  descent 
.  Of  the  green  sheep-track  did  we  glide  ; 
And  through  the  wood  we  went  ; 

And,  ere  we  came  to  Leonard's  rock, 

He  sang  those  witty  rhymes  7° 

About  the  crazy  old  church-clock. 

And  the  bewildered  chimes. 

1799. 


HART-LEAP    WELL. 

Hart-Leap  Well  is  a  small  spring  of  water,  about  five  miles  from  Richmond 
in  Yorkshire,  and  near  the  side  of  the  road  that  leads  from  Richmond  to 
Askrigg.  Its  name  is  derived  from  a  remarkable  Chase,  the  memory  of  which 
is  preserved  by  the  monuments  spoken  of  in  the  second  Part  of  the  following 
Poem,  which  monuments  do  now  exist  as  I  have  there  described  them. 

The  Knight  had  ridden  down  from  Wensley  Moor 
With  the  slow  motion  of  a  summer's  cloud, 
And  now,  as  he  approached  a  vassal's  door, 
"  Bring  forth  another  horse  I  "  he  cried  aloud. 


HART-LEAP  IVELL.  8l 

"  Another  horse  !  "  —  That  shout  the  vassal  heard  5 

And  saddled  his  best  Steed,  a  comely  grey  ; 
Sir  Walter  mounted  him  ;  he  was  the  third 
Which  he  had  mounted  on  that  glorious  day. 

Joy  sparkled  in  the  prancing  courser's  eyes  ; 

The  horse  and  horseman  are  a  happy  pair  ;  lo 

But,  though  Sir  \\'alter  like  a  falcon  flies, 

There  is  a  doleful  silence  in  the  air. 

A  rout  this  morning  left  Sir  Walter's  Hall, 

That  as  they  galloped  made  the  echoes  roar  ; 

But  horse  and  man  are  vanished,  one  and  all ;        .  15 

Such  race,  I  think,  was  never  seen  before. 

Sir  Walter,  restless  as  a  veering  wind, 

Calls  to  the  few  tired  dogs  that  yet  remain  : 

Blanch,  Swift,  and  Music,  noblest  of  their  kind. 

Follow,  and  up  the  weary  mountain  strain.  20 

The  Knight  hallooed,  he  cheered  and  chid  them  on 
With  suppliant  gestures  and  upbraidings  stern  ; 
But  breath  and  eyesight  fail  ;  and,  one  by  one, 
The  dogs  are  stretched  among  the  mountain  fern. 

Where  is  the  throng,  the  tumult  of  the  race  ?  25 

The  bugles  that  so  joyfully  were  blown  .-' 

—  This  chase  it  looks  not  like  an  earthly  chase  ; 

Sir  Walter  and  the  Hart  are  left  alone. 

The  poor  Hart  toils  along  the  mountain-side  ; 

I  will  not  stop  to  tell  how  far  he  fled,  3° 

Nor  will  I  mention  by  what  death  he  died  ; 

But  now  the  Knight  beholds  him  lying  dead. 


82  HART-LEAP  WELL. 

Dismounting,  then,  he  leaned  against  a  thorn  ; 

He  had  no  follower,  dog,  nor  man,  nor  boy  : 

He  neither  cracked  his  whip,  nor  blew  his  horn,  35 

But  gazed  upon  the  spoil  with  silent  joy. 

Close  to  the  thorn  on  which  Sir  Walter  leaned. 

Stood  his  dumb  partner  in  this  glorious  feat  ; 

Weak  as  a  lamb  the  hour  that  it  is  yeaned  ; 

And  white  with  foam  as  if  with  cleaving  sleet.  4° 

Upon  his  side  the  Hart  was  lying  stretched  : 

His  nostril  touched  a  spring  beneath  a  hill. 

And  with  the  last  deep  groan  his  breath  had  fetched 

The  waters  of  the  spring  were  trembling  still. 

And  now,  too  happy  for  repose  or  rest,  45 

(Never  had  living  man  such  joyful  lot !) 
Sir  Walter  walked  all  round,  north,  south,  and  west, 
And  gazed  and  gazed  upon  that  darling  spot. 

And  climbing  up  the  hill  —  (it  was  at  least 
Four  roods  of  sheer  ascent)  Sir  Walter  found  5° 

Three  several  hoof-marks  which  the  hunted  Beast 
Had  left  imprinted  on  the  grassy  ground. 

Sir  \\'alter  wiped  his  face,  and  cried,  "  Till  now 

Such  sight  was  never  seen  by  human  eyes  : 

Three  leaps  have  borne  him  from  this  lofty  brow,  55 

Down  to  the  very  fountain  where  he  lies. 

"  I  '11  build  a  pleasure-house  upon  this  spot. 

And  a  smallarbour,  made  for  rural  joy  ; 

'T  will  be  the  traveller's  shed,  the  pilgrim's  cot, 

A  place  of  love  for  damsels  that  are  coy.  6o 


HART-LEAP  WELL.  83 

"  A  cunning  artist  will  I  have  to  frame 

A  basin  for  that  fountain  in  the  dell ! 

And  they  who  do  make  mention  of  the  same, 

From  this  day  forth,  shall  call  it  Hart-leap  Well. 

"  And,  gallant  Stag !  to  make  thy  praises  known,  65 

Another  monument  shall  here  be  raised  ; 
Three  several  pillars,  each  a  rough-hewn  stone, 
And  planted  where  thy  hoofs  the  turf  have  grazed. 

"  And,  in  the  summer-time  when  days  are  long, 

I  will  come  hither  with  my  Paramour ;  7° 

And  with  the  dancers  and  the  minstrel's  song 

We  will  make  merry  in  that  pleasant  bower. 

"  Till  the  foundations  of  the  mountains  fail 

My  mansion  with  its  arbour  shall  endure;  — 

The  joy  of  them  who  till  the  fields  of  Swale,  75 

And  them  who  dwell  among  the  woods  of  Ure ! " 

Then  home  he  went,  and  left  the  Hart,  stone-dead. 
With  breathless  nostrils  stretched  above  the  spring. 
—  Soon  did  the  Knight  perform  what  he  had  said  ; 
And  far  and  wide  the  fame  thereof  did  ring.  80 

Ere  thrice  the  Moon  into  her  port  had  steered, 
A  cup  of  stone  received  the  living  well ; 
Three  pillars  of  rude  stone  Sir  Walter  reared. 
And  built  a  house  of  pleasure  in  the  dell. 

And  near  the  fountain,  flowers  of  stature  tall  85 

With  trailing  plants  and  trees  were  intertwined,  — 
Which  soon  composed  a  little  sylvan  hall. 
A  leafy  shelter  from  the  sun  and  wind. 


84  HART-LEAP  WELL. 

And  thither,  when  the  summer  days  were  long, 

Sir  Walter  led  his  wondering  Paramour ;  90 

And  with  the  dancers  and  the  minstrel's  song 

Made  merriment  within  that  pleasant  bower. 

The  Knight,  Sir  Walter,  died  in  course  of  time, 

And  his  bones  lie  in  his  paternal  vale. — 

But  there  is  matter  for  a  second  rhyme,  95 

And  I  to  this  would  add  another  tale. 


PART    SECOND. 

The  moving  accident  is  not  my  trade ; 

To  freeze  the  blood  I  have  no  ready  arts : 

'Tis  my  delight,  alone  in  summer  shade. 

To  pipe  a  simple  song  for  thinking  hearts.  100 

As  I  from  Hawes  to  Richmond  did  repair. 
It  chanced  that  I  saw  standing  in  a  dell 
Three  aspens  at  three  corners  of  a  square ; 
And  one,  not  four  yards  distant,  near  a  well. 

What  this  imported  I  could  ill  divine:  105 

And,  pulling  now  the  rein  my  horse  to  stop, 
I  saw  three  pillars  standing  in  a  line,  — 
The  last  stone-pillar  on  a  dark  hill-top. 

The  trees  were  grey,  with  neither  arms  nor  head ; 

Half  wasted  the  square  mound  of  tawny  green  ;  no 

So  that  you  just  might  say,  as  then  I  said, 

"  Here  in  old  time  the  hand  of  man  hath  been." 

I  looked  upon  the  hill  both  far  and  near, 

More  doleful  place  did  never  eye  survey ;  - 

It  seemed  as  if  the  spring-time  came  not  here,  "5 

And  Nature  here  were  willing  to  decay. 


HART-LEAF   WELL.  g.^ 

I  Stood  in  various  thoughts  and  fancies  lost, 

When  one,  who  was  in  shepherd's  garb  attired, 

Came  up  the  hollow :  —  him  did  I  accost. 

And  what  this  place  might  be  I  then  inquired.  120 

The  shepherd  stopped,  and  that  same  story  told 
Which  in  my  former  rhyme  I  have  rehearsed. 
"  A  jolly  place,"  said  he,  "  in  times  of  old ! 
But  something  ails  it  now :  the  spot  is  curst. 

"You  see  these  lifeless  stumps  of  aspen  wood —  125 

Some  say  that  they  are  beeches,  others  elms  — 
These  were  the  bower ;  and  here  a  mansion  stood, 
The  finest  palace  of  a  hundred  realms! 

"  The  arbour  does  its  own  condition  tell ; 

You  see  the  stones,  the  fountain,  and  the  stream;  130 

But  as  to  the  great  Lodge !  you  might  as  well 

Hunt  half  a  day  for  a  forgotten  dream. 

"  There  's  neither  dog  nor  heifer,  horse  nor  sheep, 
Will  wet  his  lips  within  that  cup  of  stone ; 
And  oftentimes,  when  all  are  fast  asleep,  i35 

This  water  doth  send  forth  a  dolorous  groan. 

"  Some  say  that  here  a  murder  has  been  done. 

And  blood  cries  out  for  blood  :  but,  for  my  part, 

I  've  guessed,  when  I  've  been  sitting  in  the  sun. 

That  it  was  all  for  that  unhappy  Hart.  140 

"'  What   thoughts    must    through    the    creature's   brain 

have  passed ! 
Even  from  the  topmost  stone,  upon  the  steep, 
Are  but  three  bounds  —  and  look,  Sir,  at  this  last  — 
O  Master!  it  has  been  a  cruel  leap. 


86  HART-LEAP  WELL. 

"  For  thirteen  hours  he  ran  a  desperate  race  ;  145 

And  in  my  simple  mind  we  cannot  tell 
What  cause  the  Hart  might  have  to  love  this  place, 
And  come  and  make  his  deathbed  near  the  well. 

"  Here  on  the  grass  perhaps  asleep  he  sank, 

Lulled  by  the  fountain  in  the  summer-tide  :  15° 

This  water  was  perhaps  the  first  he  drank 

When  he  had  wandered  from  his  mother's  side. 

"  In  April  here  beneath  the  flowering  thorn 

He  heard  the  birds  their  morning  carols  sing ; 

And  he,  perhaps,  for  aught  we  know,  was  born  iS5 

Not  half  a  furlong  from  that  self-same  spring. 

"  Now,  here  is  neither  grass  nor  pleasant  shade  ; 

The  sun  on  drearier  hollow  never  shone  : 

So  will  it  be,  as  1  have  often  said. 

Till  trees,  and  stones,  and  fountain,  all  are  gone."  160 

"  Grey-headed  Shepherd,  thou  hast  spoken  well : 
Small  difference  lies  between  thy  creed  and  mine  : 
This  Beast  not  unobserved  by  Nature  fell ; 
His  death  was  mourned  by  sympathy  divine. 

"  The  Being,  that  is  in  the  clouds  and  air,  165 

That  is  in  the  green  leaves  among  the  groves,- 
Maintains  a  deep  and  reverential  care 
For  the  unoffending  creatures  whom  he  loves. 

"  The  pleasure-house  is  dust :  —  behind,  before, 

This  is  no  common  waste,  no  common  gloom  ;  '7° 

But  Nature,  in  due  course  of  time,  once  more 

Shall  here  put  on  her  beauty  and  her  bloom. 


THE   BROTHERS.  87 

"  She  leaves  these  objects  to  a  slow  decay, 

That  what  we  are,  and  have  been,  may  be  known  ; 

But  at  the  coming  of  the  milder  day,  •    175 

These  monuments  shall  all  be  overgrown. 

"  One  lesson.  Shepherd,  let  us  two  divide, 

Taught  both  by  what  she  shows,  and  what  conceals  ; 

Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride 

With  sorrow  of  the  meanest  thing  that  feels."  180 

iSoo. 


THE    BROTHERS. 

"  These  Tourists,  heaven  preserve  us !  needs  must  live 
A  profitable  life  :  some  glance  along. 
Rapid  and  gay,  as  if  the  earth  were  air, 
.And  they  were  butterflies  to  wheel  about 
Long  as  the  summer  lasted;  some,  as  wise,  5 

Perched  on  the  forehead  of  a  jutting  crag, 
Pencil  in  hand  and  book  upon  the  knee. 
Will  look  and  scribble,  scribble  on  and  look, 
Until  a  man  might  travel  twelve  stout  miles, 
Or  reap  an  acre  of  his  neighbour's  corn.  10 

But,  for  that  moping  Son  of  Idleness, 
Why  can  he  tz-xxy  yonder  I  —  In  our  church-yard 
Is  neither  epitaph  nor  monument, 
Tombstone  nor  name  —  only  the  turf  we  tread 
And  a  few  natural  graves." 

To  Jane,  his  wife,  '5 

Thus  spake  the  homely  priest  of  Ennerdale. 
It  was  a  July  evening ;  and  he  sate 
Upon  the  long  stone-seat  beneath  the  eaves 
Of  his  old  cottage,  —  as  it  chanced,  that  day, 


88  THE  BROTHERS. 

Employed  in  winter's  work.     Upon  the  stone  20 

His  wife  sate  near  him,  teasing  matted  wool, 
While,  from  the  twin  cards  toothed  with  glittering  wire. 
He  fed  the  spindle  of  his  youngest  child. 
Who,  in  the  open  air,  with  due  accord 
Of  busy  hands  and  back-and-forward  steps,  25 

Her  large  round  wheel  was  turning.    Towards  the  field 
In  which  the  Parish  Chapel  stood  alone. 
Girt  round  with  a  bare  ring  of  mossy  wall. 
While  half  an  hour  went  by,  the  Priest  had  sent 
Many  a  long  look  of  wonder  :  and  at  last,  3° 

Risen  from  his  seat,  beside  the  snow-white  ridge 
Of  carded  wool  which  the  old  man  had  piled 
He  laid  his  implements  with  gentle  care. 
Each  in  the  other  locked  ;   and,  down  the  path 
That  front  his  cottage  to  the  church-yard  led,  35 

He  took  his  way,  impatient  to  accost 
The  Stranger,  whom  he  saw  still  lingering  there. 
'Twas  one  well  known  to  him  in  former  days, 
A  Shepherd-lad ;  who  ere  his  sixteenth  year 
Had  left  that  calling,  tempted  to  entrust  40 

His  expectations  to  the  fickle  winds 
And  perilous  waters  ;  with  the  mariners 
A  fellow-mariner  ;  —  and  so  had  fared 
Through  twenty  seasons ;  but  he  had  been  reared 
Among  the  mountains,  and  he  in  his  heart  45 

Was  half  a  shepherd  on  the  stormy  seas. 
Oft  in  the  piping  shrouds  had  Leonard  heard 
The  tones  of  waterfalls,  and  inland  sounds 
Of  caves  and  trees :  —  and,  when  the  regular  wind 
Between  the  tropics  filled  the  steady  sail,  5° 

And  blew  with  the  same  breath  through  days  and  weeks, 
Lengthening  invisibly  its  weary  line 
Along  the  cloudless  Main,  he,  in  those  hours 


THE   BROTHERS.  89 

Of  tiresome  indolence,  would  often  hang 

Over  the  vessel's  side,  and  gaze  and  gaze  ;  55 

And,  while  the  broad  blue  wave  and  sparkling  foam 

Flashed  round  him  images  and  hues  that  wrought 

In  union  with  the  employment  of  his  heart, 

He,  thus  by  feverish  passion  overcome, 

Even  with  the  organs  of  his  bodily  eye,  60 

Below  him,  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 

Saw  mountains  ;  saw  the  forms  of  sheep  that  grazed 

On  verdant  hills  —  with  dwellings  among  trees. 

And  shepherds  clad  in  the  same  country  grey 

Which  he  himself  had  worn.^ 

And  now.  at  last,  65 

From  perils  manifold,  with  some  small  wealth 
Acquired  by  traffic  'mid  the  Indian  Isles, 
To  his  paternal  home  he  is  returned. 
With  a  determined  purpose  to  resume 
The  life  he  had  lived  there  ;  both  for  the  sake  7° 

Of  many  darling  pleasures,  and  the  love 
Which  to  an  only  brother  he  has  borne 
In  all  his  hardships,  since  that  happy  time 
When,  whether  it  blew  foul  or  fair,  they  two 
Were  brother-shepherds  on  their  native  hills.  75 

—  They  were  the  last  of  all  their  race:  and  now, 
When  Leonard  had  approached  his  home,  his  heart 
Failed  in  him  ;   and,  not  venturing  to  enquire 
Tidings  of  one  so  long  and  dearly  loved, 
He  to  the  solitary  church-yard  turned  ;  80 

That,  as  he  knew  in  what  particular  spot 
His  family  were  laid,  he  thence  might  learn 
If  still  his  Brother  lived,  or  to  the  file 

1  This  description  of  the  Calenture  is  sketched  from  an  imper- 
fect recollection  of  an  admirable  one  in  prose,  by  Mr.  Gilbert, 
author  of  the  Hurricane. 


9° 


THE   BROTHERS. 

Another  grave  was  added.  —  He  had  found 

Another  grave,  —  near  which  a  full  half-hour  85 

He  had  remained  ;  but,  as  he  gazed,  there  grew 

Such  a  confusion  in  his  memory. 

That  he  began  to  doubt  ;  and  even  to  hope 

That  he  had  seen  this  heap  of  turf  before,  — 

That  it  was  not  another  grave,  but  one  9° 

He  had  forgotten.     He  had  lost  his  path. 

As  up  the  vale,  that  afternoon,  he  walked 

Through  fields  which  once  had  been  well  known  to 

him: 
And  oh  what  joy  this  recollection  now 
Sent  to  his  heart !  he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  95 

And,  looking  round,  imagined  that  he  saw 
Strange  alteration  wrought  on  every  side 
Among  the  woods  and  fields,  and  that  the  rocks. 
And  everlasting  hills  themselves  were  changed. 

By  this  the  Priest,  who  down  the  field  had  come,       loo 
Unseen  by  Leonard,  at  the  church-yard  gate 
Stopped  short,  —  and  thence,  at  leisure,  limb  by  limb 
Perused  him  with  a  gay  complacency. 
Ay,  thought  the  Vicar,  smiling  to  himself, 
'Tis  one  of  those  who  needs  must  leave  the  path  105 

Of  the  world's  business  to  go  wild  alone : 
His  arms  have  a  perpetual  holiday  ; 
The  happy  man  will  creep  about  the  fields. 
Following  his  fancies  by  the  hour,  to  bring 
Tears  down  his  cheek,  or  solitary  smiles  no 

Into  his  face,  until  the  setting  sun 
Write  fool  upon  his  forehead.  —  Planted  thus 
Beneath  a  shed  that  over-arched  the  gate 
Of  this  rude  church-yard,  till  the  stars  appeared 
The  good  Man  might  have  communed  with  himself,       "5 
But  that  the  Stranger,  who  had  left  the  grave, 


THE   BROTHERS. 


91 


Approached ;  he  recognized  the  Priest  at  once, 

And,  after  greetings  interchanged,  and  given 

By  Leonard  to  the  Vicar  as  to  one 

Unknown  to  him,  this  dialogue  ensued.  120 

Leonard.     You  live,  Sir,  in  these  dales,  a  quiet  life: 
Your  years  make  up  one  peaceful  family  ; 
And  who  would  grieve  and  fret,  if,  welcome  come 
And  welcome  gone,  they  are  so  like  each  other, 
They  cannot  be  remembered  ?     Scarce  a  funeral  125 

Comes  to  this  church-yard  once  in  eighteen  months  ; 
And  yet,  some  changes  must  take  place  among  you  : 
And  you,  who  dwell  here,  even  among  these  rocks, 
Can  trace  the  finger  of  mortality. 
And  see,  that  with  our  threescore  years  and  ten  130 

We  are  not  all  that  perish. I  remember, 

(For  many  years  ago  I  passed  this  road) 

There  was  a  foot-way  all  along  the  fields 

By  the  brook-side  —  't  is  gone  —  and  that  dark  cleft  I 

To  me  it  does  not  seem  to  wear  the  face  i35 

Which  then  it  had  ! 

Priest.  Nay,  Sir,  for  aught  I  know, 

That  chasm  is  much  the  same  — 

Leo7iard.  But,  surely,  yonder  — 

Priest.     Ay,  there,  indeed,  your  memory  is  a  friend 
That  does  not  play  you  false.  —  On  that  tall  pike 
(It  is  the  loneliest  place  of  all  these  hills)  140 

There  were  two  springs  which  bubbled  side  by  side, 
As  if  they  had  been  made  that  they  might  be 
Companions  for  each  other :  the  huge  crag 
Was  rent  with  lightning  —  one  hath  disappeared  ; 
The  other,  left  behind,  is  flowing  still.  MS 

For  accidents  and  changes  such  as  these, 
We  want  not  store  of  them  ;  —  a  waterspout 
Will  bring  down  half  a  mountain  :   what  a  feast 


92 


THE   BROTHERS. 


For  folks  that  wander  up  and  down  like  you, 

To  see  an  acre's  breadth  of  that  wide  cliff  150 

One  roaring  cataract  !  a  sharp  May-storm 

Will  come  with  loads  of  January  snow, 

And  in  one  night  send  twenty  score  of  sheep 

To  feed  the  ravens  ;  or  a  shepherd  dies 

By  some  untoward  death  among  the  rocks  :  iS5 

The  ice  breaks  up  and  sweeps  away  a  bridge  ; 

A  wood  is  felled  :  —  and  then  for  our  own  homes  ! 

A  child  is  born  or  christened,  a  field  ploughed, 

A  daughter  sent  to  service,  a  web  spun, 

The  old  house-clock  is  decked  with  a  new  face  ;  160 

And  hence,  so  far  from  wanting  facts  or  dates 

To  chronicle  the  time,  we  all  have  here 

A  pair  of  diaries,  —  one  serving.  Sir, 

For  the  whole  dale,  and  one  for  each  fireside  — 

Yours  was  a  stranger's  judgment :  for  historians,  165 

Commend  me  to  these  valleys  ! 

Leonard.  Yet  your  Church-yard 

Seems,  if  such  freedom  may  be  used  with  you, 
To  say  that  you  are  heedless  of  the  past : 
An  orphan  could  not  find  his  mother's  grave  : 
Here  's  neither  head  nor  foot  stone,  plate  of  brass,  ^1^ 

Cross-bones  nor  skull,  —  type  of  our  earthly  state 
Nor  emblem  of  our  hopes :  the  dead  man's  home 
Is  but  a  fellow  to  that  pasture-field. 

Priest.     Why,  there.  Sir,  is  a  thought  that  's  new  to  me  ! 
The  stone-cutters,  't  is  true,  might  beg  their  bread  175 

If  every  English  church-yard  were  like  ours  ; 
Yet  your  conclusion  wanders  from  the  truth  : 
We  have  no  need  of  names  and  epitaphs  ; 
We  talk  about  the  dead  by  our  firesides. 
And  then,  for  our  immortal  part  !  we  want  180 

No  symbols.  Sir,  to  tell  us  that  plain  tale  : 


THE    BROTHERS. 


93 


The  thought  of  death  sits  easy  on  the  man 

Who  has  been  born  and  dies  among  the  mountains. 

Leonard.     Your  Dalesmen,  then,  do  in  each  other's 
thoughts 
Possess  a  kind  of  second  life  :  no  doubt  185 

You,  Sir,  could  help  me  to  the  history 
Of  half  these  graves  ? 

Priest.  For  eight-score  winters  past, 

With  what  I  've  witnessed,  and  with  what  1  've  heard, 
Perhaps  I  might ;  and,  on  a  winter-evening. 
If  you  were  seated  at  my  chimney's  nook,  190 

By  turning  o'er  these  hillocks  one  by  one. 
We  two  could  travel,  Sir,  through  a  strange  round  ; 
Yet  all  in  the  broad  highway  of  the  world. 
Now  there  's  a  grave  —  your  foot  is  half  upon  it,  — 
It  looks  just  like  the  rest  :  and  yet  that  man  i9S 

Died  broken-hearted. 

Leonard.  'T  is  a  common  case. 

We  '11  take  another  :  who  is  he  that  lies 
Beneath  yon  ridge,  the  last  of  those  three  graves  ? 
It  touches  on  that  piece  of  native  rock 
Left  in  the  church-yard  wall. 

Priest.  That  's  Walter  Ewbank.      200 

He  had  as  white  a  head  and  fresh  a  cheek 
As  ever  were  produced  by  youth  and  age 
Engendering  in  the  blood  of  hale  fourscore. 
Through  five  long  generations  had  the  heart 
Of  Walter's  forefathers  o'erriowed  the  bounds  205 

Of  their  inheritance,  that  single  cottage  — 
You  see  it  yonder  !  and  those  few  green  fields. 
They  toiled  and  wrought,  and  still,  from  sire  to  son. 
Each  struggled,  and  each  yielded  as  before 
A  little  —  yet  a  little,  —  and  old  Walter,  210 

They  left  to  him  the  family  heart,  and  land 


94 


THE   BROTHERS. 


With  other  burthens  than  the  crop  it  bore. 

Year  after  year  the  old  man  still  kept  up 

A  cheerful  mind,  —  and  buffeted  with  bond, 

Interest,  and  mortgages  ;  at  last  he  sank,  215 

And  went  into  his  grave  before  his  time. 

Poor  Walter !  whether  it  was  care  that  spurred  him 

God  only  knows,  but  to  the  very  last 

He  had  the  lightest  foot  in  Ennerdale  : 

His  pace  was  never  that  of  an  old  man  :  220 

I  almost  see  him  tripping  down  the  path 

With  his  two  grandsons  after  him  :  —  but  you, 

Unless  our  Landlord  be  your  host  to-night. 

Have  far  to  travel,  —  and  on  these  rough  paths 

Even  in  the  longest  day  of  midsummer —  225 

Leonard.     But  those  two  Orphans  ! 

Priest.  Orphans  !  —  Such  they  were  — 

Yet  not  while  Walter  lived  :  for,  though  their  parents 
Lay  buried  side  by  side  as  now  they  lie. 
The  old  man  was  a  father  to  the  boys, 

Two  fathers  in  one  father  :  and  if  tears,  230 

Shed  when  he  talked  of  them  where  they  were  not. 
And  hauntings  from  the  infirmity  of  love. 
Are  aught  of  what  makes  up  a  mother's  heart, 
This  old  Man,  in  the  day  of  his  old  age, 
Was  half  a  mother  to  them.  —  If  you  weep.  Sir,  235 

To  hear  a  stranger  talking  about  strangers. 
Heaven  bless  you  when  you  are  among  your  kindred  ! 
Ay  —  you  may  turn  that  way  —  it  is  a  grave 
Which  will  bear  looking  at. 

Leofiard.  These  boys  —  I  hope 

They  loved  this  good  old  Man  '^  — 

Priest.  They  did  —  and  truly  :  240 

But  that  was  what  we  almost  overlooked, 
They  were  such  darlings  of  each  other.     Yes, 


THE    BROTHERS. 


95 


Though  from  the  cradle  they  had  Hved  with  Walter, 

The  only  kinsman  near  them,  and  though  he 

Inclined  to  both  by  reason  of  his  age,  245 

With  a  more  fond,  familiar,  tenderness  ; 

They,  notwithstanding,  had  much  love  to  spare, 

And  it  all  went  into  each  other's  hearts. 

Leonard,  the  elder  by  just  eighteen  months, 

Was  two  years  taller  :  't  was  a  joy  to  see,  25° 

To  hear,  to  meet  them  !  —  From  their  house  the  school 

Is  distant  three  short  miles,  and  in  the  time 

Of  storm  and  thaw,  when  every  watercourse 

And  unbridged  stream,  such  as  you  may  have  noticed 

Crossing  our  roads  at  every  hundred  steps,  255 

Was  swoln  into  a  noisy  rivulet. 

Would  Leonard  then,  when  elder  boys  remained 

At  home,  go  staggering  through  the  slippery  fords, 

Bearing  his  brother  on  his  back.      I  have  seen  him, 

On  windy  days,  in  one  of  those  stray  brooks,  260 

Ay,  more  than  once  I  have  seen  him,  mid-leg  deep, 

Their  two  books  lying  both  on  a  dry  stone, 

Upon  the  hither  side  :  and  once  I  said, 

As  I  remember,  looking  round  these  rocks 

And  hills  on  which  we  all  of  us  were  born,  265 

That  God  who  made  the  great  book  of  the  world 

Would  bless  such  piety  — 

Leonard.  It  may  be  then  — 

Priest.     Never  did  worthier  lads  break  English  bread  : 

The  very  brightest  Sunday  Autumn  saw 

With  all  its  mealy  clusters  of  ripe  nuts,  270 

Could  never  keep  those  boys  away  from  church. 

Or  tempt  them  to  an  hour  of  sabbath  breach. . 

Leonard  and  James  !     I  warrant,  every  corner 

Among  these  rocks,  and  every  hollow  place 

That  venturous  foot  could  reach,  to  one  or  both  -7  5 


96  THE    BROTHERS. 

Was  known  as  well  as  to  the  flowers  that  grow  there. 

Like  roe-bucks  they  went  bounding  o'er  the  hills ; 

They  played  like  two  young  ravens  on  the  crags  : 

Then  they  could  write,  ay  and  speak  too,  as  well 

As  many  of  their  betters  —  and  for  Leonard  !  28c 

The  very  night  before  he  went  away. 

In  my  own  house  I  put  into  his  hand 

A  Bible,  and  I  'd  wager  house  and  field 

That,  if  he  be  alive,  he  has  it  yet. 

Leonard.     It  seems,  these  Brothers  have  not  lived  to  be  285 
A  comfort  to  each  other  — 

Priest.  That  they  might 

Live  to  such  end  is  what  both  old  and  young 
In  this  our  valley  all  of  us  have  wished, 
And  what,  for  my  part,  I  have  often  prayed  : 
But  Leonard  — 

Leonard.  Then  James  still  is  left  among  you  !  290 

Priest.     'T  is  of  the  elder  brother  I  am  speaking  : 
They  had  an  uncle  ;  —  he  was  at  that  time 
A  thriving  man,  and  trafficked  on  the  seas  : 
And,  but  for  that  same  uncle,  to  this  hour 
Leonard  had  never  handled  rope  or  shroud  :  295 

For  the  boy  loved  the  life  which  we  lead  here  ; 
And  though  of  unripe  years,  a  stripling  only, 
His  soul  was  knit  to  this  his  native  soil. 
But,  as  I  said,  old  Walter  w'as  too  weak 
To  strive  with  such  a  torrent  ;   when  he  died,  3°° 

The  estate  and  house  were  sold  ;  and  all  their  sheep, 
A  pretty  flock,  and  which,  for  aught  I  know, 
Had  clothed  the  Ewbanks  for  a  thousand  years  :  — 
Well  —  all  was  gone,  and  they  were  destitute, 
And  Leonard,  chiefly  for  his  Brother's  sake,  305 

Resolved  to  try  his  fortune  on  the  seas. 
Twelve  years  are  past  since  we  had  tidings  from  him. 


THE    BROTHERS. 


97 


If  there  were  one  among  us  who  had  heard 

That  Leonard  Ewbank  was  come  home  again. 

From  the  Great  Gavel, ^  down  by  Leeza's  banks,  3*° 

And  down  the  Enna,  far  as  Egremont. 

The  day  would  be  a  joyous  festival  ; 

And  those  two  bells  of  ours,  which  there  you  see  — 

Hanging  in  the  open  air  —  but,  O  good  Sir  ! 

This  is  sad  talk  —  they  '11  never  sound  for  him  —  3' 5 

Living  or  dead.  —  When  last  we  heard  of  him. 

He  was  in  slavery  among  the  Moors 

Upon  the  Barbary  coast.  —  'T  was  not  a  little 

That  would  bring  down  his  spirit ;  and  no  doubt. 

Before  it  ended  in  his  death,  the  Youth  320 

Was  sadly  crossed.  —  Poor  Leonard  !  when  we  parted. 

He  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  said  to  me. 

If  e'er  he  should  grow  rich,  he  would  return. 

To  live  in  peace  upon  his  father's  land, 

And  lay  his  bones  among  us. 

Leonard.  If  that  day  3^5 

Should  come,  't  would  needs  be  a  glad  day  for  him  ; 
He  would  himself,  no  doubt,  be  happy  then 
As  any  that  should  meet  him  —  ' 

Priest.  Happy!   Sir  — 

Leonard.  You  said  his  kindred  all  were  in  their  graves, 
And  that  he  had  one  Brother  — 

Priest.  That  is  but  33o 

A  fellow-tale  of  sorrow.      From  his  youth 

^  The  Great  Gavel,  so  called,  I  imagine,  from  its  resemblance  to 
the  gable  end  of  a  house,  is  one  of  the  highest  of  the  Cumberland 
mountains.  It  stands  at  the  head  of  the  several  vales  of  Ennerdale. 
Wastdale,  and  Borrowdale. 

The  Leeza  is  a  river  which  flows  into  the  Lake  of  Ennerdale  :  on 
issuing  from  the  Lake,  it  changes  its  name,  and  is  called  the  End, 
Eyne,  or  Enna      It  falls  into  the  sea  a  little  below  Egremont. 


98 


THE   BROTHERS. 


James,  though  not  sickly,  yet  was  delicate ; 

And  Leonard  being  always  by  his  side 

Had  done  so  many  offices  about  him, 

That,  though  he  was  not  of  a  timid  nature,  335 

Yet  still  the  spirit  of  a  mountain-boy 

In  him  was  somewhat  checked  ;  and,  when  his  Brother 

Was  gone  to  sea,  and  he  was  left  alone, 

The  little  colour  that  he  had  was  soon 

Stolen  from  his  cheek  ;    he  drooped,  and   pined,  and 

pined  —  34° 

Leonard.     But  these  are  all  the  graves  of  full-grown 
men ! 

Priest.     Ay,  Sir,  that  passed  away  :  we  took  him  to  us  ; 
He  was  the  child  of  all  the  dale  —  he  lived 
Three  months  with  one,  and  six  months  with  another, 
And  wanted  neither  food,  nor  clothes,  nor  love  :  345 

And  many,  many  happy  days  were  his. 
But,  whether  blithe  or  sad,  't  is  my  belief 
His  absent  Brother  still  was  at  his  heart. 
And,  when  he  dwelt  beneath  our  roof,  we  found 
(A  practice  till  this  time  unknown  to  him)  35° 

That  often,  rising  from  his  bed  at  night, 
He  in  his  sleep  would  walk  about,  and  sleeping 
He  sought  his  brother  Leonard.  —  You  are  moved  ! 
Forgive  me,  Sir  :  before  I  spoke  to  you, 
I  judged  you  most  unkindly. 

Leonard.  But  this  Youth,  355 

How  did  he  die  at  last  ? 

Priest.  One  sweet  May-morning 

(It  will  be  twelve  years  since  when  Spring  returns). 
He  had  gone  forth  among  the  new^-dropped  lambs. 
With  two  or  three  companions,  whom  their  course 
Of  occupation  led  from  height  to  height  360 

Under  a  cloudless  sun  —  till  he,  at  length, 


THE   BROTHERS. 


99 


Through  weariness,  or,  haply,  to  indulge 

The  humour  of  the  moment,  lagged  behind. 

You  see  yon  precipice  ;  —  it  wears  the  shape 

Of  a  vast  building  made  of  many  crags  ;  3^5 

And  in  the  midst  is  one  particular  rock 

That  rises  like  a  column  from  the  vale, 

Whence  by  our  shepherds  it  is  called.  The  Pillar. 

Upon  its  aery  summit  crowned  with  heath, 

The  loiterer,  not  unnoticed  by  his  comrades,  37° 

Lay  stretched  at  ease  ;  but,  passing  by  the  place 

On  their  return,  they  found  that  he  was  gone. 

No  ill  was  feared  :  till  one  of  them  by  chance 

Entering,  when  evening  was  far  spent,  the  house 

Which  at  that  time  was  James's  home,  there  learned  37  5 

That  nobody  had  seen  him  all  that  day  : 

The  morning  came,  and  still  he  was  unheard  of 

The  neighbours  were  alarmed,  and  to  the  brook 

Some  hastened  ;  some  ran  to  the  lake  :  ere  noon 

They  found  him  at  the  foot  of  that  same  rock  380 

Dead,  and  with  mangled  limbs.     The  third  day  after 

I  buried  him,  poor  Youth,  and  there  he  lies  ! 

Leonard.     And  that  then  is  his  grave  !  —  Before  his 
death 
You  say  that  he  saw  many  happy  years  ? 

Priest.     Ay,  that  he  did  — 

Leonard.  And  all  went  well  with  him  ? —  3^5 

Priest.     If  he  had  one,  the  'S^outh  had  twenty  homes. 

Leonard.     And  you  believe,  then,  that  his  mind  was 
easy  ?  — 

Priest.     Yes,  long  before  he  died,  he  found  that  time 
Is  a  true  friend  to  sorrow  :  and  unless 

His  thoughts  were  turned  on  Leonard's  luckless  fortune,  39° 
He  talked  about  him  with  a  cheerful  love. 

Leonard.     He  could  not  come  to  an  unhallowed  end  ! 


lOo  THE   BROTHERS. 

Priest.     Nay,  God  forbid  !  — You  recollect  1  mentioned 
A  habit  which  disquietude  and  grief 

Had  brought  upon  him  ;  and  we  all  conjectured  395 

That,  as  the  day  was  warm,  he  had  lain  down 
On  the  soft  heath,  —  and,  waiting  for  his  comrades, 
He  there  had  fallen  asleep  ;  that  in  his  sleep 
He  to  the  margin  of  the  precipice 

Had  walked,  and  from  the  summit  had  fallen  headlong  :  400 
And  so  no  doubt  he  perished.     When  the  Youth 
Fell,  in  his  hand  he  must  have  grasped,  we  think. 
His  shepherd's  staff ;  for  on  that  Pillar  of  rock 
It  had  been  caught  mid-way  ;  and  there  for  years 
It  hung  ;  ■ —  and  mouldered  there. 

The  Priest  here  ended  —  405 
The  Stranger  would  have  thanked  him,  but  he  felt 
A  gushing  from  his  heart,  that  took  away 
The  power  of  speech.     Both  left  the  spot  in  silence ; 
And  Leonard,  when  they  reached  the  church-yard  gate, 
As  the  Priest  lifted  up  the  latch,  turned  round,  —  410 

And,  looking  at  the  grave,  he  said,  "'  My  Brother  !  " 
The  Vicar  did  not  hear  the  words  :  and  now% 
He  pointed  towards  his  dwelling-place,  entreating 
That  Leonard  would  partake  his  homely  fare  : 
The  other  thanked  him  with  an  earnest  voice  ;  415 

But  added,  that,  the  evening  being  calm. 
He  would  pursue  his  journey.      So  they  parted. 

It  was  not  long  ere  Leonard  reached  a  grove 
That  overhung  the  road  :  he  there  stopped  short, 
And,  sitting  down  beneath  the  trees,  reviewed  420 

All  that  the  Priest  had  said  :  his  early  years 
Were  with  him  :  —  his  long  absence,  cherished  hopes. 
And  thoughts  which  had  been  his  an  hour  before. 
All  pressed  on  him  with  such  a  weight,  that  now. 
This  vale,  where  he  had  been  so  happy,  seemed  425 


THE   PET-LAMB. 

A  place  in  which  he  could  not  bear  to  live  : 

So  he  relinquished  all  his  purposes. 

He  travelled  back  to  Egremont  :  and  thence, 

That  night,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Priest, 

Reminding  him  of  what  had  passed  between  them  ; 

And  adding,  with  a  hope  to  be  forgiven, 

That  it  was  from  the  weakness  of  his  heart 

He  had  not  dared  to  tell  him  who  he  was. 

This  done,  he  went  on  shipboard,  and  is  now 

A  Seaman,  a  grey-headed  Mariner. 

1800. 


430 


435 


THE    PET-LAMB. 


A    PASTORAL. 


The  dew  was  falling  fast,  the  stars  began  to  blink ; 

I  heard  a  voice  ;  it  said,  "  Drink,  pretty  creature,  drink  !  " 

And,  looking  o'er  the  hedge,  before  me  I  espied 

A  snow-white  mountain-lamb  with  a  Maiden  at  its  side. 

Nor  sheep  nor  kine  were  near  ;  the  lamb  was  all  alone. 
And  by  a  slender  cord  was  tethered  to  a  stone  ; 
With  one  knee  on  the  grass  did  the  little  Maiden  kneel. 
While  to  that  mountain-lamb  she  gave  its  evening  meal. 


The  lamb,  while  from  her  hand  he  thus  his  supper  took. 
Seemed  to  feast  with  head  and  ears  ;  and  his  tail  with 

pleasure  shook.  'o 

"  Drink,  pretty  creature,  drink,"  she  said  in  such  a  tone 
That  I  almost  received  her  heart  into  my  own. 

LIBRARY 

tNIVERSl  rV  OF  CALIFORNIJ 

SA.M  A  BARBARA 


[02  THE    PET-LAMB. 

'T  was  little  Barbara  Lewthwaite,  a  child  of  beauty  rare  ! 
I  watched  them  with  delight,  they  were  a  lovely  pair. 
Now  with  her  empty  can  the  Maiden  turned  away  :  15 

But  ere  ten  yards  were  gone  her  footsteps  did  she  stay. 

Right  towards  the  lamb  she  looked  ;  and  from  a  shady 

place 
I  unobserved  could  see  the  workings  of  her  face  : 
If  Nature  to  her  tongue  could  measured  numbers  bring, 
Thus,  thought  I,  to  her  lamb  that  little  Maid  might  sing :     20 

"  What  ails  thee,  young  One  ?    what  ?     Why  pull  so  at 

thy  cord  ? 
Is  it  not  well  with  thee  ?  well  both  for  bed  and  board  ? 
Thy  plot  of  grass  is  soft,  and  green  as  grass  can  be  ; 
Rest,  little  young  One,  rest ;  what  is  't  that  aileth  thee  ? 

"  What  is  it  thou  wouldst  seek  ?     What  is  wanting  to 

thy  heart  ?  25 

Thy  limbs  are  they  not  strong  ?     And  beautiful  thou  art : 

This  grass  is  tender  grass  ;  these  flowers  they  have  no 
peers  : 

And  that  green  corn  all  day  is  rustling  in  thy  ears  ! 

"  If  the  sun  be  shining  hot,  do  but  stretch  thy  woollen 

chain, 
This  beech  is  standing  by,  its  covert  thou  canst  gain  ;         3° 
For  rain   and  mountain-storms  !     the  like  thou    need'st 

not  fear. 
The  rain  and  storm  are  things  that  scarcely  can  come 

here. 

"  Rest,  little  young  One,  rest ;   thou  hast  forgot  the  day 
When  my  father  found  thee  first  in  places  far  away  ; 


IHE    PEl-LAiMB. 


103 


Many  flocks  were  on  the  hills,  but  thou  wert  owned  by 

none,  35 

And  thy  mother  from  thy  side  for  evermore  was  gone. 

"  He  took  thee  in  his  arms,  and  in   pity  brought  thee 

home  : 
A  blessed  day  for  thee  !  then  whither  wouldst  thou  roam  ? 
A  faithful  nurse  thou  hast  ;  the  dam  that  did  thee  yean 
Upon  the  mountain-tops  no  kinder  could  have  been.  40 

'"  Thou  know'st  that  twice  a  day  I  have  brought  thee  in 

this  can 
Fresh  water  from  the  brook,  as  clear  as  ever  ran  ; 
And  twice  in  the  day,  when  the  ground  is  wet  with  dew, 
I  bring  thee  draughts  of  milk,  warm  milk  it  is  and  new. 

"  Thy  limbs  will  shortly  be  twice  as  stout  as  they  are  now,   45 
Then  I  '11  yoke  thee  to  my  cart  like  a  pony  in  the  plough  ; 
My  playmate  thou  shalt  be  ;  and  when  the  wind  is  cold 
Our  hearth  shall  be  thy  bed,  our  house  shall  be  thy  fold. 

"  It  will  not,  will  not  rest !  —  Poor  creature,  can  it  be 
That 't  is  thy  mother's  heart  which  is  working  so  in  thee  ?    5° 
Things  that  I  know  not  of  belike  to  thee  are  dear. 
And  dreams  of  things  which  thou  canst  neither  see  nor 
hsar. 

"  Alas,  the  mountain-tops  that  look  so  green  and  fair  ! 
I  've  heard  of  fearful  winds  and  darkness  that  come  there.; 
The  little  brooks  that  seem  all  pastime  and  all  play,  55 

When  they  are  angry,  roar  like  lions  for  their  prey. 

'  Here  thou  need'st  not  dread  the  raven  in  the  sky  ; 
Night  and  day  thou  art  safe,  —  our  cottage  is  hard  by. 


104 


FOE  MS   ON    THE   NAMING    OE  PLACES. 


Why  bleat  so  after  me  ?     Why  pull  so  at  thy  chain  ? 

Sleep  —  and  at  break  of  day  I  will  come  to  thee  again  !  "  60 

—  As  homeward  through  the  lane  1  went  with  lazy  feet, 
This  song  to  myself  did  I  oftentimes  repeat ; 
And  it  seemed,  as  I  retraced  the  ballad  line  by  line. 
That  but  half  of  it  was  hers,  and  one  half  of  it  was  mine. 

Again,  and  once  again,  did  I  repeat  the  song  ;  65 

"  Nay,"  said   I,  "  more   than   half  to   the   damsel    must 

belong. 
For  she  looked  with  such  a  look  and  she  spake  with 

such  a  tone, 
That  I  almost  received  her  heart  into  my  own." 

1800. 


POEMS    ON   THE    NAMING    OF   PLACES. 

By  persons  resident  in  the  country  and  attached  to  rural  objects,  many 
places  will  be  found  unnamed  or  of  unknown  names,  where  little  Incidents 
must  have  occurred,  or  feelings  been  experienced,  which  will  have  given  to 
such  places  a  private  and  peculiar  interest.  From  a  wish  to  give  some  sort 
of  record  to  such  Incidents,  and  renew  the  gratification  of  such  feelings, 
Names  have  been  given  to  Places  by  the  Author  and  some  of  his  Friends, 
and  the  following  Poems  written  in  consequence. 


It  was  an  April  morning  :  fresh  and  clear 

The  Rivulet,  delighting  in  its  strength, 

Ran  with  a  young  man's  speed  ;   and  yet  the  voice 

Of  waters  which  the  winter  had  supplied 

Was  softened  down  into  a  vernal  tone. 

The  spirit  of  enjoyment  and  desire, 

And  hopes  and  wishes,  from  all  living  things 


FORMS   ON    THE   NAMING    OF  PLACES.  105 

Went  circling,  like  a  multitude  of  sounds. 

The  budding  groves  seemed  eager  to  urge  on 

The  steps  of  June  ;  as  if  their  various  hues  10 

Were  only  hindrances  that  stood  between 

Them  and  their  object  :  but,  meanwhile,  prevailed 

Such  an  entire  contentment  in  the  air 

That  every  naked  ash,  and  tardy  tree 

Yet  leafless,  showed  as  if  the  countenance  15 

With  which  it  looked  on  this  delightful  day 

Were  native  to  the  summer.  —  Up  the  brook 

I  roamed  in  the  confusion  of  my  heart, 

Alive  to  all  things  and  forgetting  all. 

At  length  I  to  a  sudden  turning  came  20 

In  this  continuous  glen,  where  down  a  rock 

The  Stream,  so  ardent  in  its  course  before, 

Sent  forth  such  sallies  of  glad  sound,  that  all 

Which  I  till  then  had  heard,  appeared  the  voice 

Of  common  pleasure  :  beast  and  bird,  the  lamb,  25 

The  shepherd's  dog,  the  linnet  and  the  thrush 

Vied  with  this  waterfall,  and  made  a  song, 

Which,  while  I  listened,  seemed  like  the  wild  growth 

Or  like  some  natural  produce  of  the  air. 

That  could  not  cease  to  be.     Green  leaves  were  here  ;        3° 

But  't  was  the  foliage  of  the  rocks  —  the  birch, 

The  yew,  the  holly,  and  the  bright  green  thorn, 

With  hanging  islands  of  resplendent  furze  : 

And,  on  a  summit,  distant  a  short  space, 

By  any  who  should  look  beyond  the  dell,  35 

A  single  mountain-cottage  might  be  seen. 

I  gazed  and  gazed,  and  to  myself  I  said, 

"  Our  thoughts  at  least  are  ours  ;   and  this  wild  nook, 

My  Emma,  I  will  dedicate  to  thee." 

Soon  did  the  spot  become  my  other  home.  40 

My  dwelling,  and  my  out-of-doors  abode. 


lo6  POEMS    ON    THE   NAM/AG    OF  PLACED. 

And,  of  the  Shepherds  who  have  seen  me  there, 

To  whom  I  sometimes  in  our  idle  talk 

Have  told  this  fancy,  two  or  three,  perhaps, 

Years  after  we  are  gone  and  in  our  graves,  45 

When  they  have  cause  to  speak  of  this  wild  place, 

May  call  it  by  the  name  of  Emma's  Dei-l. 

1800. 


TO    JOANNA. 

Amid  the  smoke  of  cities  did  you  pass 

The  time  of  early  youth  ;   and  there  you  learned. 

From  years  of  quiet  industry,  to  love 

The  living  Beings  by  your  own  fireside. 

With  such  a  strong  devotion,  that  your  heart  5 

Is  slow  to  meet  the  sympathies  of  them 

Who  look  upon  the  hills  with  tenderness, 

And  make  dear  friendships  with  the  streams  and  groves. 

Yet  we,  who  are  transgressors  in  this  kind, 

Dwelling  retired  in  our  simplicity  10 

Among  the  woods  and  fields,  we  love  you  well, 

Joanna  !   and  I  guess,  since  you  have  been 

So  distant  from  us  now  for  two  long  years, 

That  you  will  gladly  listen  to  discourse, 

However  trivial,  if  you  thence  be  taught  15 

That  they,  with  whom  you  once  were  happy,  talk 

Familiarly  of  you  and  of  old  times. 

While  I  was  seated,  now  some  ten  days  past, 
Beneath  those  lofty  firs,  that  overtop 

Their  ancient  neighbour,  the  old  steeple-tower,  20 

The  Vicar  from  his  gloomy  house  hard  by 
Came  forth  to  greet  me  ;  and  when  he  had  asked, 
"  How  fares  Joanna,  that  wild-hearted  Maid  ! 


POEMS   ON    THE   NAMING    OF  PLACES.  107 

And  when  will  she  return  to  us  ?  "  he  paused  , 

And,  after  short  exchange  of  village  news,  25 

He  with  grave  looks  demanded,  for  what  cause, 

Reviving  obsolete  idolatry, 

1,  like  a  Runic  Priest,  in  characters 

Of  formidable  size  had  chiselled  out 

Some  uncouth  name  upon  the  native  rock,  3° 

Above  the  Roth  a,  by  the  forest-side. 

—  Now,  by  those  dear  immunities  of  heart 
Engendered  between  malice  and  true  love, 
I  was  not  loth  to  be  so  catechised, 

And  this  was  my  reply  :  — "As  it  befell,  35 

One  summer  morning  we  had  walked  abroad 
At  break  of  day,  Joanna  and  myself. 

—  'T  was  that  delightful  season  when  the  broom. 
Full-flowered,  and  visible  on  every  steep. 

Along  the  copses  runs  in  veins  of  gold.  4° 

Our  pathway  led  us  on  to  Rotha's  banks  ; 

And  when  we  came  in  front  of  that  tall  rock 

That  eastward  looks,  I  there  stopped  short  —  and  stood 

Tracing  the  lofty  barrier  with  my  eye 

From  base  to  summit  ;  such  delight  I  found  45 

To  note  in  shrub  and  tree,  in  stone  and  flower 

That  intermixture  of  delicious  hues, 

Along  so  vast  a  surface,  all  at  once. 

In  one  impression,  by  connecting  force 

Of  their  own  beauty,  imaged  in  the  heart.  5° 

■ —  When  I  had  gazed  perhaps  two  minutes'  space, 

Joanna,  looking  in  my  eyes,  beheld 

That  ravishment  of  mine,  and  laughed  aloud. 

The  Rock,  like  something  starting  from  a  sleep, 

Took  up  the  Lady's  voice,  and  laughed  again ;  55 

That  ancient  Woman  seated  on  Helm-crag 

Was  ready  with  her  cavern  ;   Hammar-scar, 


lo8  POEMS   ON   THE   NAMING    OF  PLACES. 

And  the  tall  Steep  of  Silver-how,  sent  forth 

A  noise  of  laughter  ;  southern  Loughrigg  heard, 

And  Fairfield  answered  with  a  mountain  tone  ;  60 

Helvellyn  far  into  the  clear  blue  sky 

Carried  the  Lady's  voice,  —  old  Skiddaw  blew 

His  speaking-trumpet  ;  —  back  out  of  the  clouds 

Of  Glaramara  southward  came  the  voice ; 

And  Kirkstone  tossed  it  from  his  misty  head.  65 

—  Now  whether  (said  I  to  our  cordial  Friend, 
Who  in  the  hey-day  of  astonishment 
Smiled  in  my  face)  this  were  in  simple  truth 
A  work  accomplished  by  the  brotherhood 

Of  ancient  mountains,  or  my  ear  was  touched  70 

With  dreams  and  visionary  impulses 

To  me  alone  imparted,  sure  I  am 

That  there  was  a  loud  uproar  in  the  hills. 

And,  while  we  both  were  listening,  to  my  side 

The  fair  Joanna  drew,  as  if  she  wished  75 

To  shelter  from  some  object  of  her  fear. 

—  And  hence,  long  afterwards,  when  eighteen  moons 
Were  wasted,  as  I  chanced  to  walk  alone 

Beneath  this  rock,  at  sunrise,  on  a  calm 
And  silent  morning,  I  sat  down,  and  there,  80 

In  memory  of  affections  old  and  true, 
I  chiselled  out  in  those  rude  characters 
Joanna's  name  deep  in  the  living  stone  :  — 
And  I,  and  all  who  dwell  by  my  fireside. 
Have  called  the  lovely  rock,  Joanna's  Rock."  85 

iSoo. 

Note.  —  In  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland  are  several  Inscrip- 
tions, upon  the  native  rock,  which,  from  the  wasting  of  time,  and  the 
rudeness  of  the  workmanship,  have  been  mistaken  for  Runic.  They 
are  without  doubt  Roman. 

The  Rotha,  mentioned  in  this  poem,  is  the  River  which,  flowing 
through  the  lakes  of  Grasmere  and  Rydale,  falls  into  Wynandermere. 


THE    CHILDLESS   EATHEK. 


109 


On  Helm-crag,  that  impressive  single  mountain  at  the  head  of  the 
Vale  of  Grasmere,  is  a  rock  which  from  most  points  of  view  bears  a 
striking  resemblance  to  an  old  Woman  cowering.  Close  by  this 
rock  is  one  of  those  fissures  or  caverns,  which  in  the  language  of  the 
country  are  called  dungeons.  Most  of  the  mountains  here  men- 
tioned immediately  surround  the  Vale  of  Grasmere  ;  of  the  others, 
some  are  at  a  considerable  distance,  but  they  belong  to  the  same 
cluster. 


There  is  an  Eminence,  —  of  these  our  hills 

The  last  that  parleys  with  the  setting  sun  ; 

We  can  behold  it  from  our  orchard-seat ; 

And,  when  at  evening  we  pursue  our  walk 

Along  the  public  way,  this  Peak,  so  high  5 

Above  us,  and  so  distant  in  its  height, 

Is  visible  ;   and  often  seems  to  send 

Its  own  deep  quiet  to  restore  our  hearts. 

The  meteors  make  of  it  a  favourite  haunt : 

The  star  of  Jove,  so  beautiful  and  large  10 

In  the  mid  heavens,  is  never  half  so  fair 

As  when  he  shines  above  it.     'T  is  in  truth 

The  loneliest  place  we  have  among  the  clouds. 

And  She  who  dwells  with  me,  whom  I  have  loved 

With  such  communion,  that  no  place  on  earth  15 

Can  ever  be  a  solitude  to  me. 

Hath  to  this  lonely  Summit  given  my  Name. 

1800. 


THE    CHILDLESS    FATHER. 

"  Up,  Timothy,  up  with  your  staff  and  away ! 
Not  a  soul  in  the  village  this  morning  will  stay ; 
The  hare  has  just  started  from  Hamilton's  grounds. 
And  Skiddaw  is  glad  with  the  cry  of  the  hounds." 


lo  MICHAEL. 

—  Of  coats  and  of  jackets  grey,  scarlet,  and  green,  5 

On  the  slopes  of  the  pastures  all  colours  were  seen  ; 
With  their  comely  blue  aprons,  and  caps  white  as  snow, 
The  girls  on  the  hills  made  a  holiday  show. 

Fresh  sprigs  of  green  box-wood,  not  six  months  before. 
Filled  the  funeral  basin  at  Timothy's  door  ;  lo 

A  coffin  through  Timothy's  threshold  had  past ; 
One  Child  did  it  bear,  and  that  Child  was  his  last. 

Now  fast  up  the  dell  came  the  noise  and  the  fray, 
The  horse  and  the  horn,  and  the  hark  !  hark  away  I 
Old  Timothy  took  up  his  staff,  and  he  shut  15 

With  a  leisurely  motion  the  door  of  his  hut. 

Perhaps  to  himself  at  that  moment  he  said  : 
"The  key  I  must  take,  for  my  Ellen  is  dead." 
But  of  this  in  my  ears  not  a  word  did  he  speak  ; 
And  he  went  to  the  chase  with  a  tear  on  his  cheek.         20 

1800. 


MICHAEL. 


A    PASTORAL    POEM. 


If  from  the  public  way  you  turn  your  steps 
Up  the  tumultuous  brook  of  Greenhead  Ghyll, 
You  will  suppose  that  with  an  upright  path 
Your  feet  must  struggle  ;  in  such  bold  ascent 
The  pastoral  mountains  front  you,  face  to  face. 
But,  courage  !  for  around  that  boisterous  brook 
The  mountains  have  all  opened  out  themselves, 
And  made  a  hidden  valley  of  their  own. 


MICHAEL.  Ill 

No  habitation  can  be  seen  ;  but  they 

Who  journey  thither  find  themselves  alone  lo 

With  a  few  sheep,  with  rocks  and  stones,  and  kites 

That  overhead  are  sailing  in  the  sky. 

It  is  in  truth  an  utter  solitude  : 

Nor  should  I  have  made  mention  of  this  Dell 

But  for  one  object  which  you  might  pass  by,  15 

Might  see  and  notice  not.      Beside  the  brook 

Appears  a  straggling  heap  of  unhewn  stones ! 

And  to  that  simple  object  appertains 

A  story  —  unenriched  with  strange  events. 

Yet  not  unfit,  I  deem,  for  the  fireside,  20 

Or  for  the  summer  shade.     It  was  the  first 

Of  those  domestic  tales  that  spake  to  me 

Of  shepherds,  dwellers  in  the  valleys,  men 

Whom  I  already  loved  ;  not  verily 

For  their  own  sakes,  but  for  the  fields  and  hills  25 

Where  was  their  occupation  and  abode. 

And  hence  this  Tale,  w'hile  I  was  yet  a  Boy 

Careless  of  books,  yet  having  felt  the  power 

Of  Nature,  by  the  gentle  agency 

Of  natural  objects,  led  me  on  to  feel  3° 

For  passions  that  were  not  my  own,  and  think 

(At  random  and  imperfectly  indeed) 

On  man,  the  heart  of  man,  and  human  life. 

Therefore,  although  it  be  a  history 

Homely  and  rude,  I  will  relate  the  same  35 

For  the  delight  of  a  few  natural  hearts  ; 

And,  with  yet  fonder  feeling,  for  the  sake 

Of  youthful  Poets,  who  among  these  hills 

Will  be  my  second  self  when  I  am  gone. 

Upon  the  forest-side  in  Grasmere  Vale  40 

There  dwelt  a  Shepherd,  Michael  was  his  name  ; 


112  MICHAEL. 

An  old  man,  stout  of  heart,  and  strong  of  limb. 

His  bodily  frame  had  been  from  youth  to  age 

Of  an  unusual  strength  :  his  mind  was  keen, 

Intense,  and  frugal,  apt  for  all  affairs,  45 

And  in  his  shepherd's  calling  he  was  prompt 

And  watchful  more  than  ordinary  men. 

Hence  had  he  learned  the  meaning  of  all  winds, 

Of  blasts  of  every  tone  ;  and,  oftentimes, 

When  others  heeded  not.  He  heard  the  South  50 

Make  subterraneous  music,  like  the  noise 

Of  bagpipers  on  distant  Highland  hills. 

The  Shepherd,  at  such  warning,  of  his  flock 

Bethought  him,  and  he  to  himself  would  say, 

"  The  winds  are  now  devising  work  for  me  !  "  55 

And,  truly,  at  all  times,  the  storm,  that  drives 

The  traveller  to  a  shelter,  summoned  him 

Up  to  the  mountains  :  he  had  been  alone 

Amid  the  heart  of  many  thousand  mists, 

That  came  to  him,  and  left  him,  on  the  heights. 

So  lived  he  till  his  eightieth  year  was  past. 

And  grossly  that  man  errs,  who  should  suppose 

That  the  green  valleys,  and  the  streams  and  rocks, 

Were  things  indifferent  to  the  Shepherd's  thoughts. 

Fields,  where  with  cheerful  spirits  he  had  breathed  65 

The  common  air  ;  hills,  which  with  vigorous  step 

He  had  so  often  climbed  ;  which  had  impressed 

So  many  incidents  upon  his  mind 

Of  hardship,  skill  or  courage,  joy  or  fear  ; 

Which,  like  a  book,  preserved  the  memory  7° 

Of  the  dumb  animals,  whom  he  had  saved. 

Had  fed  or  sheltered,  linking  to  such  acts 

The  certainty  of  honourable  gain  ; 

Those  fields,  those  hills  —  what  could  they  less  ?  had  laid 

Strong  hold  on  his  affections,  were  to  him  75 


MICHAEL. 


113 


A  pleasurable  feeling  of  blind  love, 
The  pleasure  which  there  is  in  life  itself. 

His  days  had  not  been  passed  in  singleness. 
His  Helpmate  was  a  comely  matron,  old  — 
Though  younger  than  himself  full  twenty  years.  80 

She  was  a  woman  of  a  stirring  life. 
Whose  heart  was  in  her  house  :  two  wheels  she  had 
Of  antique  form  ;  this  large,  for  spinning  wool  ; 
That  small,  for  flax  ;   and  if  one  wheel  had  rest 
It  was  because  the  other  was  at  work.  85 

The  Pair  had  but  one  inmate  in  their  house. 
An  only  Child,  who  had  been  born  to  them 
When  Michael,  telling  o'er  his  years,  began 
To  deem  that  he  was  old,  —  in  shepherd's  phrase. 
With  one  foot  in  the  grave.     This  only  Son,  9° 

With  two  brave  sheep-dogs  tried  in  many  a  storm, 
The  one  of  an  inestimable  worth. 
Made  all  their  household.     I  may  truly  say, 
That  they  were  as  a  proverb  in  the  vale 
For  endless  industry.     \\'hen  day  was  gone,  95 

And  from  their  occupations  out  of  doors 
The  Son  and  Father  were  come  home,  even  then. 
Their  labour  did  not  cease  ;   unless  when  all 
Turned  to  the  cleanly  supper-board,  and  there. 
Each  with  a  mess  of  pottage  and  skimmed  milk.  100 

Sat  round  the  basket  piled  with  oaten  cakes. 
And  their  plain  home-made  cheese.     Yet  when  the  meal 
Was  ended,  Luke  (for  so  the  Son  was  named) 
And  his  old  Father  both  betook  themselves 
To  such  convenient  work  as  might  employ  105 

Their  hands  by  the  fireside  ;  perhaps  to  card 
Wool  for  the  Housewife's  spindle,  or  repair 
Some  injury  done  to  sickle,  flail,  or  scythe, 
Or  other  implement  of  house  or  field. 


114  MICHAEL. 

Down  from  the  ceiling,  by  the  chimney's  edge,  "o 

That  in  our  ancient  uncouth  country  style 
With  huge  and  black  projection  overbrowed 
Large  space  beneath,  as  duly  as  the  light 
Of  day  grew  dim  the  Housewife  hung  a  lamp ; 
An  aged  utensil,  which  had  performed  "5 

Service  beyond  all  others  of  its  kind. 
Early  at  evening  did  it  burn  —  and  late, 
Surviving  comrade  of  uncounted  hours, 
Which,  going  by  from  year  to  year,  had  found. 
And  left,  the  couple  neither  gay  perhaps  120 

Nor  cheerful,  yet  with  objects  and  with  hopes, 
Living  a  life  of  eager  industry. 

And  now,  when  Luke  had  reached  his  eighteenth  year, 
There  by  the  light  of  this  old  lamp  they  sate, 
Father  and  Son,  while  far  into  the  night  125 

The  Housewife  plied  her  own  peculiar  work. 
Making  the  cottage  through  the  silent  hours 
Murmur  as  with  the  sound  of  summer  flies. 
This  light  was  famous  in  its  neighbourhood, 
And  was  a  public  symbol  of  the  life  130 

That  thrifty  Pair  had  lived.     For,  as  it  chanced. 
Their  cottage  on  a  plot  of  rising  ground 
Stood  single,  with  large  prospect,  north  and  south. 
High  into  Easedale,  up  to  Dunmail-Raise, 
And  westward  to  the  village  near  the  lake  ;  135 

And  from  this  constant  light,  so  regular 
And  so  far  seen,  the  House  itself,  by  all 
Who  dwelt  within  the  limits  of  the  vale. 
Both  old  and  young,  was  named  The  Evening  Star. 

Thus  living  on  through  such  a  length  of  years,  140 

The  Shepherd,  if  he  loved  himself,  must  needs 
Have  loved  his  Helpmate ;  but  to  Michael's  heart 
This  son  of  his  old  age  was  yet  more  dear  — 


MICHAEL. 


115 


Less  from  instinctive  tenderness,  the  same 

Fond  spirit  that  blindly  works  in  the  blood  of  all  —  145 

Than  that  a  child,  more  than  all  other  gifts 

That  earth  can  offer  to  declining  man, 

Brings  hope  with  it,  and  forward-looking  thoughts, 

And  stirrings  of  inquietude,  when  they 

By  tendency  of  nature  needs  must  fail.  150 

Exceeding  was  the  love  he  bare  to  him. 

His  heart  and  his  heart's  joy  !     For  oftentimes 

Old  Michael,  while  he  was  a  babe  in  arms, 

Had  done  him  female  service,  not  alone 

For  pastime  and  delight,  as  is  the  use  155 

Of  fathers,  but  with  patient  mind  enforced 

To  acts  of  tenderness  ;  and  he  had  rocked 

His  cradle,  as  with  a  woman's  gentle  hand. 

And,  in  a  later  time,  ere  yet  the  Boy 
Had  put  on  boy's  attire,  did  Michael  love,  160 

Albeit  of  a  stern  unbending  mind, 
To  have  the  Young-one  in  his  sight,  when  he 
Wrought  in  the  field,  or  on  his  shepherd's  stool 
Sate  with  a  fettered  sheep  before  him  stretched 
Under  the  large  old  oak,  that  near  his  door  165 

Stood  single,  and,  from  matchless  depth  of  shade 
Chosen  for  the  Shearer's  covert  from  the  sun. 
Thence  in  our  rustic  dialect  was  called 
The  Clipping  Tree,^  a  name  which  yet  it  bears. 
There,  while  they  two  were  sitting  in  the  shade,  170 

With  others  round  them,  earnest  all  and  blithe. 
Would  Michael  exercise  his  heart  with  looks 
Of  fond  correction  and  reproof  bestowed 
Upon  the  Child,  if  he  disturbed  the  sheep 
By  catching  at  their  legs,  or  with  hjs  shouts  '75 

Scared  them,  while  they  lay  still  beneath  the  shears. 

'  Clipping  is  the  word  used  in  the  Xorth  of  England  for  shearing. 


ii6  MICHAEL. 

And  when  by  Heaven's  good  grace  the  boy  grew  up 
A  healthy  Lad,  and  carried  in  his  cheek 
Two  steady  roses  that  were  five  years  old ; 
Then  Michael  from  a  winter  coppice  cut  i&o 

With  his  own  hand  a  sapling,  which  he  hooped 
With  iron,  making  it  throughout  in  all 
Due  requisites  a  perfect  shepherd's  staff, 
And  gave  it  to  the  Boy  ;  wherewith  equipt 
He  as  a  watchman  oftentimes  was  placed  185 

At  gate  or  gap,  to  stem  or  turn  the  flock  ; 
And,  to  his  office  prematurely  called, 
There  stood  the  urchin,  as  you  will  divine, 
Something  between  a  hindrance  and  a  help  ; 
And  for  this  cause  not  always,  I  believe,  190 

Receiving  from  his  Father  hire  of  praise  ; 
Though  nought  was  left  undone  which  staff,  or  voice. 
Or  looks,  or  threatening  gestures,  could  perform. 

But  soon  as  Luke,  full  ten  years  old,  could  stand 
Against  the  mountain  blasts  ;  and  to  the  heights,  195 

Not  fearing  toil,  nor  length  of  weary  ways. 
He  with  his  Father  daily  went,  and  they 
Were  as  companions,  why  should  I  relate 
That  objects  which  the  Shepherd  loved  before 
Were  dearer  now  ?  that  from  the  Boy  there  came  200 

Feelings  and  emanations  —  things  which  were 
Light  to  the  sun  and  music  to  the  wind  ; 
And  that  the  old  Man's  heart  seemed  born  again  ? 

Thus  in  his  Father's  sight  the  Boy  grew  up  : 
And  now,  when  he  had  reached  his  eighteenth  year,  205 

He  was  his  comfort  and  his  daily  hope. 

While  in  this  sort  the  simple  household  lived 
From  day  to  day,  to  Michael's  ear  there  came 
Distressful  tidings.     Long  before  the  time 
Of  which  I  speak,  the  Shepherd  had  been  bound  210 


MICHAEL. 


117 


In  surety  for  his  brother's  son,  a  man 
Of  an  industrious  life,  and  ample  means ; 
But  unforeseen  misfortunes  suddenly 
Had  prest  upon  him  ;   and  old  Michael  now 
Was  summoned  to  discharge  the  forfeiture,  215 

A  grievous  penalty,  but  little  less 
Than  half  his  substance.     This  unlooked-for  claim. 
At  the  first  hearing,  for  a  moment  took 
More  hope  out  of  his  life  than  he  supposed 
That  any  old  man  ever  could  have  lost.  220 

As  soon  as  he  had  armed  himself  with  strength 
To  look  his  trouble  in  the  face,  it  seemed 
The  Shepherd's  sole  resource  to  sell  at  once 
A  portion  of  his  patrimonial  fields. 

Such  was  his  first  resolve  ;  he  thought  again.  225 

And  his  heart  failed  him.     "  Isabel,"  said  he. 
Two  evenings  after  he  had  heard  the  news,    ' 
"  I  have  been  toiling  more  than  seventy  years. 
And  in  the  open  sunshine  of  God's  love 
Have  we  all  lived  ;  yet  if  these  fields  of  ours  230 

Should  pass  into  a  stranger's  hand,  I  think 
That  I  could  not  lie  quiet  in  my  grave. 
Our  lot  is  a  hard  lot ;  the  sun  himself 
Has  scarcely  been  more  diligent  than  I  ; 
And  I  have  lived  to  be  a  fool  at  last  235 

To  my  own  family.     An  evil  man 
That  was,  and  made  an  evil  choice,  if  he 
Were  false  to  us  ;  and  if  he  were  not  false. 
There  are  ten  thousand  to  whom  loss  like  this 
Had  been  no  sorrow.     I  forgive  him  ;  —  but  240 

'T  were  better  to  be  dumb  than  to  talk  thus. 
When  I  began,  my  purpose  was  to  speak 
Of  remedies  and  of  a  cheerful  hope. 
Our  Luke  shall  leave  us.  Isabel  ;  the  land 


Il8  MICHAEL. 

Shall  not  go  from  us,  and  it  shall  be  free  ;  245 

He  shall  possess  it,  free  as  is  the  wind 

That  passes  over  it.     We  have,  thou  know'st, 

Another  kinsman  —  he  will  be  our  friend 

In  this  distress.     He  is  a  prosperous  man, 

Thriving  in  trade  r—  and  Luke  to  him  shall  go,  250 

And  with  his  kinsman's  help  and  his  own  thrift 

He  quickly  will  repair  this  loss,  and  then 

He  may  return  to  us.     If  here  he  stay, 

What  can  be  done  ?     Where  every  one  is  poor, 

What  can  be  gained  ?  " 

At  this  the  old  Man  paused,       255 
And  Isabel  sat  silent,  for  her  mind 
Was  busy,  looking  back  into  past  times. 
There  's  Richard  Bateman,  thought  she  to  herself. 
He  was  a  parish-boy  —  at  the  church-door 
They  made  a  gathering  for  him,  shillings,  pence  260 

And  halfpennies,  wherewith  the  neighbours  bought 
A  basket,  which  they  filled  with  pedlar's  wares ; 
And,  with  this  basket  on  his  arm,  the  lad 
Went  up  to  London,  found  a  master  there, 
Who,  out  of  many,  chose  the  trusty  boy  265 

To  go  and  overlook  his  merchandise 
Beyond  the  seas  ;  where  he  grew  wondrous  rich. 
And  left  estates  and  monies  to  the  poor. 
And,  at  his  birth-place,  built  a  chapel,  floored 
With  marble  which  he  sent  from  foreign  lands.  270 

These  thoughts,  and  many  others  of  like  sort, 
Passed  quickly  through  the  mind  of  Isabel, 
And  her  face  brightened.     The  old  Man  was  glad. 
And  thus  resumed  :  —  "  Well,  Isabel  !  this  scheme 
These  two  days,  has  been  meat  and  drink  to  me.  275 

Far  more  than  we  have  lost  is  left  us  yet. 
—  We  have  enough  —  I  wish  indeed  that  I 


MICHAEL. 


119 


Were  younger ;  —  but  this  hope  is  a  good  hope. 

—  Make  ready  Luke's  best  garments,  of  the  best 

Buy  for  him  more,  and  let  us  send  him  forth  280 

To-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  or  to-night : 

—  If  he  could  go,  the  Boy  should  go  to-night." 
Here  Michael  ceased,  and  to  the  fields  went  forth 

With  a  light  heart.     The  Housewife  for  five  days 
Was  restless  morn  and  night,  and  all  day  long  285 

Wrought  on  with  her  best  fingers  to  prepare 
Things  needful  for  the  journey  of  her  son. 
But  Isabel  was  glad  when  Sunday  came 
To  stop  her  in  her  work  :  for,  when  she  lay 
By  Michael's  side,  she  through  the  last  two  nights  -9° 

Heard  him,  how  he  was  troubled  in  his  sleep  : 
And  when  they  rose  at  morning  she  could  see 
That  all  his  hopes  were  gone.     That  day  at  noon 
She  said  to  Luke,  while  they  two  by  themselves 
Were  sitting  at  the  door,  "  Thou  must  not  go  :  295 

We  have  no  other  Child  but  thee  to  lose. 
None  to  remember  —  do  not  go  away, 
For  if  thou  leave  thy  Father  he  will  die." 
The  Youth  made  answer  with  a  jocund  voice  ; 
And  Isabel,  when  she  had  told  her  fears,  3°° 

Recovered  heart.     That  evening  her  best  fare 
Did  she  bring  forth,  and  all  together  sat 
Like  happy  people  round  a  Christmas  fire. 
With  daylight  Isabel  resumed  her  work  ; 
And  all  the  ensuing  week  the  house  appeared  3°5 

As  cheerful  as  a  grove  in  Spring  :  at  length 
The  expected  letter  from  their  kinsman  came. 
With  kind  assurances  that  he  would  do 
His  utmost  for  the  welfare  of  the  Boy  ; 

To  which,  requests  were  added,  that  forthwith  310 

He  might  be  sent  to  him.     Ten  times  or  more 


120 


MICHAEL. 


The  letter  was  read  over  ;   Isabel 

Went  forth  to  show  it  to  the  neighbours  round  ; 

Nor  was  there  at  that  time  on  English  land 

A  prouder  heart  than  Luke's.     When  Isabel  3' 5 

Had  to  her  house  returned,  the  old  Man  said, 

"  He  shall  depart  to-morrow."     To  this  word 

The  Housewife  answered,  talking  much  of  things 

Which,  if  at  such  short  notice  he  should  go, 

Would  surely  be  forgotten.     But  at  length  320 

She  gave  consent,  and  Michael  was  at  ease. 

Near  the  tumultuous  brook  of  Greenhead  Ghyll, 
In  that  deep  valley,  Michael  had  designed 
To  build  a  Sheepfold  ;  and,  before  he  heard 
The  tidings  of  his  melancholy  loss,  3-5 

For  this  same  purpose  he  had  gathered  up 
A  heap  of  stones,  which  by  the  streamlet's  edge 
Lay  thrown  together,  ready  for  the  work. 
With  Luke  that  evening  thitherward  he  walked  ; 
And  soon  as  they  had  reached  the  place  he  stopped,  33° 

And  thus  the  old  Man  spake  to  him  :  —  "  My  Son, 
To-morrow  thou  wilt  leave  me  :  with  full  heart 
I  look  upon  thee,  for  thou  art  the  same 
That  wert  a  promise  to  me  ere  thy  birth. 
And  all  thy  life  hast  been  my  daily  joy.  335 

I  will  relate  to  thee  some  little  part 
Of  our  two  histories  ;  't  will  do  thee  good 
When  thou  art  from  me,  even  if  I  should  touch 

On  things  thou  canst  not  know  of. After  thou 

First  cam'st  into  the  world  - —  as  oft  befalls  34° 

To  new-born  infants  —  thou  didst  sleep  away 

Two  days,  and  blessings  from  thy  Father's  tongue 

Then  fell  upon  thee.     Day  by  day  passed  on, 

And  still  I  loved  thee  with  increasing  love. 

Never  to  living  ear  came  sweeter  sounds  345 


MICHAEL.  I  2  I 

Than  when  1  heard  thee  by  our  own  fireside 

First  uttering,  without  words,  a  natural  tune  ; 

While  thou,  a  feeding  babe,  didst  in  thy  joy 

Sing  at  thy  Mother's  breast.     Month  followed  month. 

And  in  the  open  fields  my  life  was  passed  35° 

And  on  the  mountains  ;  else  I  think  that  thou 

Hadst  been  brought  up  upon  thy  Father's  knees. 

But  we  were  playmates,  Luke  :  among  these  hills, 

As  well  thou  knowest,  in  us  the  old  and  young 

Have  played  together,  nor  with  me  didst  thou  35S 

Lack  any  pleasure  which  a  boy  can  know." 

Luke  had  a  manly  heart ;  but  at  these  words 

He  sobbed  aloud.     The  old  Man  grasped  his  hand, 

And  said,  "  Nay,  do  not  take  it  so  —  I  see 

That  these  are  things  of  which  I  need  not  speak.  360 

—  Even  to  the  utmost  I  have  been  to  thee 
A  kind  and  a  good  Father  :  and  herein 

I  but  repay  a  gift  which  I  myself 

Received  at  others'  hands  ;  for,  though  now  old 

Beyond  the  common  life  of  man,  I  still  3^5 

Remember  them  who  loved  me  in  my  youth. 

Both  of  them  sleep  together  :  here  they  lived, 

As  all  their  Forefathers  had  done  ;  and  when 

At  length  their  time  \vas  come,  they  were  not  loth 

To  give  their  bodies  to  the  family  mould.  IT^ 

I  wished  that  thou  should'st  live  the  life  they  lived  : 

But,  't  is  a  long  time  to  look  back,  my  Son, 

And  see  so  little  gain  from  threescore  years. 

These  fields  were  burthened  when  they  came  to  me  ; 

Till  I  was  forty  years  of  age,  not  more  375 

Than  half  of  my  inheritance  was  mine. 

I  toiled  and  toiled ;  God  blessed  me  in  my  work. 

And  till  these  three  weeks  past  the  land  was  free. 

—  It  looks  as  if  it  never  could  endure 


122  MICHAEL. 

Another  Master.     Heaven  forgive  me,  Luke.  380 

If  I  judge  ill  for  thee,  but  it  seems  good 
That  thou  should'st  go." 

At  this  the  old  Man  paused  ; 
Then,  pointing  to  the  stones  near  which  they  stood, 
Thus,  after  a  short  silence,  he  resumed  : 

"  This  was  a  work  for  us  ;  and  now,  my  Son,  3^5 

It  is  a  work  for  me.     But,  lay  one  stone  — 
Here,  lay  it  for  me,  Luke,  with  thine  own  hands. 
Nay,  Boy,  be  of  good  hope  ;  —  we  both  may  live 
To  see  a  better  day.     At  eighty-four 

I  still  am  strong  and  hale ;  —  do  thou  thy  part ;  39° 

I  will  do  mine.  —  I  will  begin  again 
With  many  tasks  that  were  resigned  to  thee  : 
Up  to  the  heights,  and  in  among  the  storms, 
Will  I  without  thee  go  again,  and  do 

All  works  which  I  was  wont  to  do  alone,  395 

Before  I  knew  thy  face.  —  Heaven  bless  thee,  Boy  ! 
Thy  heart  these  two  weeks  has  been  beating  fast 
With  many  hopes  ;  it  should  be  so  —  yes  —  yes  — 
I  knew  that  thou  could'st  never  have  a  wish 
To  leave  me,  Luke  :  thou  hast  been  bound  to  me  400 

Only  by  links  of  love  :  when  thou  art  gone, 
What  will  be  left  to  us  !  —  But,  I  forget 
My  purposes.     Lay  now  the  corner-stone, 
As  I  requested  ;  and  hereafter,  Luke, 

When  thou  art  gone  away,  should  evil  men  405 

Be  thy  companions,  think  of  me,  my  Son, 
And  of  this  moment  ;  hither  turn  thy  thoughts. 
And  God  will  strengthen  thee  :  amid  all  fear 
And  all  temptation,  Luke,  I  pray  that  thou 
May'st  bear  in  mind  the  life  thy  Fatliers  lived,  4'° 

Who,  being  innocent,  did  for  that  cause 
Bestir  them  in  good  deeds.     Now,  fare  thee  well  — 


MICHAEL.  123 

When  thou  return's!,  thou  in  this  place  wilt  see 

A  work  which  is  not  here  :  a  covenant 

'T  will  be  between  us  ;  but,  whatever  fate  4' 5 

Befall  thee,  I  shall  love  thee  to  the  last. 

And  bear  thy  memory  with  me  to  the  grave." 

The  Shepherd  ended  here  ;  and  Luke  stooped  down. 
And,  as  his  Father  had  requested,  laid 

The  first  stone  of  the  Sheepfold.     At  the  sight  420 

The  old  Man's  grief  broke  from  him  ;  to  his  heart 
He  pressed  his  Son,  he  kissed  him  and  wept  ; 
And  to  the  house  together  they  returned. 
—  Hushed  was  that  House  in  peace,  or  seeming  peace, 
Ere  the  night  fell :  —  with  morrow's  dawn  the  Boy  425 

Began  his  journey,  and  when  he  had  reached 
The  public  way,  he  put  on  a  bold  face ; 
And  all  the  neighbours,  as  he  passed  their  doors, 
Came  forth  with  wishes  and  with  farewell  prayers, 
That  followed  him  till  he  was  out  of  sight.  430 

A  good  report  did  from  their  Kinsman  come. 
Of  Luke  and  his  well-doing :  and  the  Boy 
Wrote  loving  letters,  full  of  wondrous  news. 
Which,  as  the  Housewife  phrased  it,  were  throughout 
"The  prettiest  letters  that  were  ever  seen."  435 

Both  parents  read  them  with  rejoicing  hearts. 
So,  many  months  passed  on  :  and  once  again 
The  Shepherd  went  about  his  daily  work 
With  confident  and*  cheerful  thoughts  ;  and  now 
Sometimes  when  he  could  find  a  leisure  hour  44° 

He  to  that  valley  took  his  way,  and  there 
Wrought  at  the  Sheepfold.     Meantime  Luke  began 
To  slacken  in  his  duty ;  and,  at  length. 
He  in  the  dissolute  city  gave  himself 

To  evil  courses  :  ignominy  and  shame  445 

Fell  on  him,  so  that  he  was  driven  at  last 


124 


MICHAEL. 


To  seek  a  hiding-place  beyond  the  seas. 

There  is  a  comfort  in  the  strength  of  love  ; 
'T  will  make  a  thing  endurable,  which  else 
Would  overset  the  brain,  or  break  the  heart  :  45° 

I  have  conversed  with  more  than  one  who  well 
Remember  the  old  Man,  and  what  he  was 
Years  after  he  had  heard  this  heavy  news. 
His  bodily  frame  had  been  from  youth  to  age 
Of  an  unusual  strength,     x^mong  the  rocks  455 

He  went,  and  still  looked  up  to  sun  and  cloud, 
And  listened  to  the  wind  ;  and,  as  before. 
Performed  all  kinds  of  labour  for  his  sheep, 
And  for  the  land,  his  small  inheritance. 

And  to  that  hollow  dell  from  time  to  time  460 

Did  he  repair,  to  build  the  Fold  of  which 
His  fiock  had  need.     'T  is  not  forgotten  yet 
The  pity  which  was  then  in  every  heart 
For  the  old  Man  —  and  't  is  believed  by  all 
That  many  and  many  a  day  he  thither  went,  465 

And  never  lifted  up  a  single  stone. 

There,  by  the  Sheepfold,  sometimes  was  he  seen 
Sitting  alone,  or  with  his  faithful  Dog, 
Then  old,  beside  him,  lying  at  his  feet. 

The  length  of  full  seven  years,  from  time  to  time,  47° 

He  at  the  building  of  this  Sheepfold  wrought, 
And  left  the  work  unfinished  when  he  died. 
Three  years,  or  little  more,  did  Isabel 
Survive  her  Husband  :  at  her  death  the  estate 
Was  sold,  and  went  into  a  stranger's  hand.  475 

The  Cottage  which  was  named  the  Evening  Star 
Is  gone  —  the  ploughshare  has  been  through  the  ground 
On  which  it  stood  ;  great  changes  have  been  wrought 
In  all  the  neighbourhood  ;  —  yet  the  oak  is  left 
That  grew  beside  their  door ;  and  the  remains  480 


FRAGMENT  FROM    THE   RECLUSE. 

Of  the  unfinished  Sheepfold  may  be  seen 
Beside  the  boisterous  brook  of  Greenhead  Ghyll. 

1800. 


125 


FRAGMENT    FROM    THE    RECLUSE. 
BOOK    I. 

On  Man,  on  Nature,  and  on  Human  Life, 
Musing  in  solitude,  I  oft  perceive 
Fair  trains  of  imagery  before  me  rise. 
Accompanied  by  feelings  of  delight 

Pure,  or  with  no  unpleasing  sadness  mixed ;  5 

And  I  am  conscious  of  affecting  thoughts 
And  dear  remembrances,  whose  presence  soothes 
Or  elevates  the  Mind,  intent  to  weigh 
The  good  and  evil  of  our  mortal  state. 

—  To  these  emotions,  whencesoe'er  they  come,  10 

Whether  from  breath  of  outward  circumstance. 
Or  from  the  Soul  —  an  impulse  to  herself  — 
I  would  give  utterance  in  numerous  verse. 
Of  Truth,  of  Grandeur,  Beauty,  Love,  and  Hope, 
And  melancholy  Fear  subdued  by  Faith  ;  ^5 

Of  blessed  consolations  in  distress  ; 
Of  moral  strength,  and  intellectual  Power  ; 
Of  joy  in  widest  commonalty  spread  ; 
Of  the  individual  Mind  that  keeps  her  own 
Inviolate  retirement,  subject  there  20 

To  Conscience  only,  and  the  law  supreme 
Of  that  Intelligence  which  governs  all  — 
I  sing  :  —  "fit  audience  let  me  find  though  few  !  *' 

So  prayed,  more  gaining  than  he  asked,  the  Bard  — 
In  holiest  mood.     Urania,  I  shall  need  25 


126  FRAGMENT  FROM    THE    RECLUSE. 

Thy  guidance,  or  a  greater  Muse,  if  such 

Descend  to  earth  or  dwell  in  highest  heaven  ! 

For  I  must  tread  on  shadowy  ground,  must  sink 

Deep  —  and,  aloft  ascending,  breathe  in  worlds 

To  which  the  heaven  of  heavens  is  but  a  veil.  3° 

All  strength  —  all  terror,  single  or  in  bands, 

That  ever  was  put  forth  in  personal  form  — 

Jehovah  —  with  his  thunder,  and  the  choir 

Of  shouting  Angels,  and  the  empyreal  thrones  — 

I  pass  them  unalarmed.     Not  Chaos,  not  35 

The  darkest  pit  of  lowest  Erebus, 

Nor  aught  of  blinder  vacancy,  scooped  out 

By  help  of  dreams  —  can  breed  such  fear  and  awe 

As  falls  upon  us  often  when  we  look 

Into  our  Minds,  into  the  Mind  of  Man  —  4° 

My  haunt,  and  the  main  region  of  my  song. 

—  Beauty  —  a  living  Presence  of  the  earth. 
Surpassing  the  most  fair  ideal  Forms 
Which  craft  of  delicate  Spirits  hath  composed 

From  earth's  materials  —  waits  upon  my  steps  ;  45 

Pitches  her  tents  before  me  as  I'move, 

An  hourly  neighbour.      Paradise,  and  groves 

Elysian,  Fortunate  Fields  —  like  those  of  old 

Sought  in  the  Atlantic  Main  —  why  should  they  be 

A  history  only  of  departed  things,  5° 

Or  a  mere  fiction  of  what  never  was .'' 

For  the  discerning  intellect  of  Man, 

When  wedded  to  this  goodly  universe 

In  love  and  holy  passion,  shall  find  these 

A  simple  produce  of  the  common  day.  55 

—  I,  long  before  the  blissful  hour  arrives, 
Would  chant,  ,in  lonely  peace,  the  spousal  verse 
Of  this  great  consummation:  —  and,  by  words 
Which  speak  of  nothing  more  than  what  we  are, 


FRAGMENT  FROM    THE   RECLUSE.  137 

Would  I  arouse  the  sensual  from  their  sleep  60 

Of  Death,  and  win  the  vacant  and  the  vain 

To  noble  raptures  ;  while  my  voice  proclaims 

How  exquisitely  the  individual  Mind 

(And  the  progressive  powers  perhaps  no  less 

Of  the  whole  species)  to  the  external  World  65 

Is  fitted  :  —  and  how  exquisitely,  too  — 

Theme  this  but  little  heard  of  among  men  — 

The  external  World  is  fitted  to  the  Mind  : 

And  the  creation  (by  no  lower  name 

Can  it  be  called)  which  they  with  blended  might  7° 

Accomplish  :  —  this  is  our  high  argument. 

—  Such  grateful  haunts  foregoing,  if  I  oft 

Must  turn  elsewhere  —  to  travel  near  the  tribes 

And  fellowships  of  men,  and  see  ill  sights 

Of  madding  passions  mutually  inflamed  ;  75 

Must  hear  Humanity  in  fields  and  groves 

Pipe  solitary  anguish  :  or  must  hang 

Brooding  above  the  fierce  confederate  storm 

Of  sorrow,  barricadoed  evermore 

Within  the  walls  of  cities  —  may  these  sounds  80 

Have  their  authentic  comment ;  that  even  these 

Hearing,  I  be  not  downcast  or  forlorn  !  — 

Descend,  prophetic  Spirit  !  that  inspir'st 

The  human  Soul  of  universal  earth. 

Dreaming  on  things  to  come  ;  and  dost  possess  85 

A  metropolitan  temple  in  the  hearts 

Of  mighty  Poets  ;   upon  me  bestow 

A  gift  of  genuine  insight ;  that  my  Song 

With  star-like  virtue  in  its  place  may  shine, 

Shedding  benignant  influence,  and  secure  9° 

Itself  from  all  malevolent  effect 

Of  those  mutations  that  extend  their  sway 

Throughout  the  nether  sphere  !  —  And  if  with  this 


128  THE   SPARROW'S   NEST. 

I  mix  more  lowly  matter ;  with  the  thing 

Contemplated,  describe  the  Mind  and  Man  95 

Contemplating  ;  and  who,  and  what  he  was  — 

The  transitory  Being  that  beheld 

This  Vision  ;  —  when  and  where,  and  how  he  lived  ; 

Be  not  this  labour  useless.     If  such  theme 

May  sort  with  highest  objects,  then  —  dread  Power  !  loo 

Whose  gracious  favour  is  the  primal  source 

Of  all  illumination  —  may  my  Life 

Express  the  image  of  a  better  time, 

More  wise  desires,  and  simpler  manners  ;  —  nurse 

My  Heart  in  genuine  freedom  :  —  all  pure  thoughts  105 

Be  with  me  ;  —  so  shall  thy  unfailing  love 

Guide,  and  support,  and  cheer  me  to  the  end  ! 

1800  {?). 


THE    SPARROWS   NEST. 

Behold,  within  the  leafy  shade, 

Those  bright  blue  eggs  together  laid ! 

On  me  the  chance-discovered  sight 

Gleamed  like  a  vision  of  delight. 

I  started  —  seeming  to  espy  S 

The  home  and  sheltered  bed, 

The  Sparrow's  dwelling,  which,  hard  by 

My  Father's  house,  in  wet  or  dry 

My  sister  Emmeline  and  I 

Together  visited.  'o 

She  looked  at  it  and  seemed  to  fear  it ; 
Dreading,  tho'  wishing,  to  be  near  it  : 
Such  heart  was  in  her,  being  then 
A  little  Prattler  among  men. 


TO   A    YOUNG   LADY. 


129 


The  Blessing  of  my  later  years  15 

Was  with  me  when  a  boy  : 

She  gave  me  eyes,  she  gave  me  ears  ; 

And  humble  cares,  and  delicate  fears  ; 

A  heart,  the  fountain  of  sweet  tears  ; 

And  love,  and  thought,  and  joy.  20 

1801. 


TO    A    YOUNG    LADY 

WHO    HAD    BEEN    REPROACHED    FOR    TAKING    LONG    WALKS    IN    THE 
COUNTRY. 

Dear  Child  of  Nature,  let  them  rail  ! 

—  There  is  a  nest  in  a  green  dale, 

A  harbour  and  a  hold  ; 

Where  thou,  a  Wife  and  Friend,  shalt  see 

Thy  own  heart-stirring  days,  and  be  S 

A  light  to  young  and  old. 

There,  healthy  as  a  shepherd  boy. 

And  treading  among  flowers  of  joy 

Which  at  no  season  fade, 

Thou,  while  thy  babes  around  thee  cling,  10 

Shalt  show  us  how  divine  a  thing 

A  Woman  may  be  made. 

Thy  thoughts  and  feelings  shall  not  die. 

Nor  leave  thee,  when  grey  hairs  are  nigh, 

A  melancholy  slave  ;  '5 

But  an  old  age  serene  and  bright. 

And  lovely  as  a  Lapland  night. 

Shall  lead  thee  to  thy  grave. 

1801  or  1802. 


13° 


ALICE   FELL. 
ALICE    FELL; 

OR,    POVERTY. 

The  post-boy  drove  vi'ith  fierce  career, 

For  threatening  clouds  the  moon  had  drowned  ; 

When,  as  we  hurried  on,  my  ear 

Was  smitten  with  a  startling  sound. 

As  if  the  wind  blew  many  ways,  5 

I  heard  the  sound,  —  and  more  and  more, 
It  seemed  to  follow  with  the  chaise. 
And  still  I  heard  it  as  before. 

At  length  I  to  the  boy  called  out  ; 

He  stopped  his  horses  at  the  word,  lo 

But  neither  cry,  nor  voice,  nor  shout. 

Nor  aught  else  like  it,  could  be  heard. 

The  boy  then  smacked  his  whip,  and  fast 

The  horses  scampered  through  the  rain  ; 

But,  hearing  soon  upon  the  blast  iS 

The  cry,  I  bade  him  halt  again. 

Forthwith  alighting  on  the  ground, 

"Whence  comes,"  said  I,  "this  piteous  moan  ?" 

And  there  a  little  Girl  I  found. 

Sitting  behind  the  chaise,  alone.  20 

"  My  cloak  !  "  no  other  word  she  spake, 
But  loud  and  bitterly  she  wept. 
As  if  her  innocent  heart  would  break  ; 
And  down  from  off  her  seat  she  leapt. 

"  What  ails  you,  child  ?  " —  she  sobbed  "  Look  here  !  "  25 

I  saw  it  in  the  wheel  entangled, 

A  weather-beaten  rag  as  e'er 

From  any  garden  scare-crow  dangled. 


ALICE   FELL. 


131 


There,  twisted  between  nave  and  spoke, 

It  hung,  nor  could  at  once  be  freed  ;  3° 

But  our  joint  pains  unloosed  the  cloak. 

A  miserable  rag  indeed  ! 

"  And  whither  are  you  going,  child, 

To-night  along  these  lonesome  ways  ? '' 

"To  Durham,"  answered  she,  half  wild —  35 

"  Then  come  with  me  into  the  chaise." 

Insensible  to  all  relief 

Sat  the  poor  girl,  and  forth  did  send 

Sob  after  sob,  as  if  her  grief 

Could  never,  never  have  an  end.  4° 

"  My  child,  in  Durham  do  you  dwell  ?  '* 
She  checked  herself  in  her  distress. 
And  said,  "  My  name  is  Alice  Fell  ; 
I  'm  fatherless  and  motherless, 

"  And  I  to  Durham,  Sir,  belong."  45 

Again,  as  if  the  thought  would  choke 
Her  very  heart,  her  grief  grew  strong : 
And  all  was  for  her  tattered  cloak ! 

The  chaise  drove  on  ;  our  journey's  end 

Was  nigh  ;  and,  sitting  by  my  side,  5° 

As  if  she  had  lost  her  only  friend 

She  wept,  nor  would  be  pacified. 

Up  to  the  tavern-door  we  post ; 

Of  Alice  and  her  grief  I  told  ; 

And  I  gave  money  to  the  host.  55 

To  buy  a  new  cloak  for  the  old. 


132 


BEGGARS. 

"  And  let  it  be  of  duffil  grey, 
As  warm  a  cloak  as  man  can  sell !  " 
Proud  creature  was  she  the  next  day, 
The  little  orphan,  Alice  Fell  !  60 

1802. 


BEGGARS. 


She  had  a  tall  man's  height  or  more  ; 

Her  face  from  summer's  noontide  heat 

No  bonnet  shaded,  but  she  wore 

A  mantle,  to  her  very  feet 

Descending  with  a  graceful  flow,  5 

And  on  her  head  a  cap  as  white  as  new-fallen  snow. 

Her  skin  was  of  Egyptian  brown: 

Haughty,  as  if  her  eye  had  seen 

Its  own  light  to  a  distance  thrown, 

She  towered,  fit  person  for  a  Queen  10 

To  lead  those  ancient  Amazonian  files ; 

Or  ruUng  Bandit's  wife  among  the  Grecian  isles. 

Advancing,  forth  she  stretched  her  hand 

And  begged  an  alms  with  doleful  plea 

That  ceased  not;  on  our  English  land  15 

Such  woes,  I  knew,  could  never  be  ; 

And  yet  a  boon  I  gave  her,  for  the  creature 

Was  beautiful  to  see  —  a  weed  of  glorious  feature. 

I  left  her,  and  pursued  my  way  ; 

And  soon  before  me  did  espy  20 

A  pair  of  little  Boys  at  play, 

Chasing  a  crimson  butterfly  ; 


BEGGARS. 


^2>Z 


The  taller  followed  with  his  hat  in  hand, 
Wreathed  round  with  yellow  flowers  the  gayest  of  the 
land. 

The  other  wore  a  rimless  crown  25 

With  leaves  of  laurel  stuck  about ; 

And,  while  both  followed  up  and  down, 

Each  whooping  with  a  merry  shout, 

In  their  fraternal  features  I  could  trace 

Unquestionable  lines  of  that  wild  Suppliant's  face.  30 

Yet  they,  so  blithe  of  heart,  seemed  fit 

For  finest  tasks  of  earth  or  air : 

Wings  let  them  have,  and  they  might  flit 

Precursors  to  Aurora's  car. 

Scattering  fresh  flowers;  though  happier  far,  I  ween,      35 

To  hunt  their  fluttering  game  o'er  rock  and  level  green. 

They  dart  across  my  path  —  but  lo, 
Each  ready  with  a  plaintive  whine  ! 
Said  I,  "  not  half  an  hour  ago 

Your  Mother  has  had  alms  of  mine.''  40 

"  That  cannot  be,"  one  answered  —  "  she  is  dead  :  "  — 
I  looked  reproof  —  they   saw  —  but  neither  hung  his 
head. 

"  She  has  been  dead.  Sir,  many  a  day."  — 

"  Hush,  boys!  you  're  telling  me  a  lie  ; 

It  was  your  Mother,  as  I  say !  "  45 

And,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 

"  Come  !   Come  !  "  cried  one,  and  without  more  ado, 

Off  to  some  other  play  the  joyous  Vagrants  flew ! 

1802. 


134  SEQUEL   TO  BEGGARS. 

SEQUEL    TO    THE    FOREGOING. 

COMPOSED    MANY    YEARS    AFTER. 

Where  are  they  now,  those  wanton  Boys  } 

For  whose  free  range  the  daedal  earth 

Was  filled  with  animated  toys, 

And  implements  of  frolic  mirth  ; 

With  tools  for  ready  wit  to  guide  ;  5 

And  ornaments  of  seemlier  pride, 

More  fresh,  more  bright,  than  princes  wear  ; 

For  what  one  moment  flung  aside. 

Another  could  repair  ; 

What  good  or  evil  have  they  seen  lo 

Since  I  their  pastime  witnessed  here, 
Their  daring  wiles,  their  sportive  cheer  ? 
I  ask  —  but  all  is  dark  between  ! 
They  met  me  in  a  genial  hour. 
When  universal  nature  breathed  15 

As  with  the  breath  of  one  sweet  flower,  — 
A  time  to  overrule  the  power 
Of  discontent,  and  check  the  birth 
Of  thoughts  with  better  thoughts  at  strife, 
The  most  familiar  bane  of  life  20 

Since  parting  Innocence  bequeathed 
Mortality  to  Earth  ! 
Soft  clouds,  the  whitest  of  the  year, 
Sailed  through  the  sky  —  the  brooks  ran  clear ; 
The  lambs  from  rock  to  rock  were  bounding  ;  25 

With  songs  the  budded  groves  resounding  ; 
And  to  my  heart  are  still  endeared 
The  thoughts  with  which  it  then  was  cheered  ; 
The  faith  which  saw  that  gladsome  pair 
Walk  through  the  fire  with  unsinged  hair.  30 


rO    A    BUTTEKFLV 


135 


Or,  if  such  faith  must  needs  deceive  — 

Then,  Spirits  of  beauty  and  of  grace. 

Associates  in  that  eager  chase  ; 

Ye,  who  within  the  blameless  mind 

Your  favourite  seat  of  empire  find  —  35 

Kind  Spirits  !  may  we  not  believe 

That  they,  so  happy  and  so  fair 

Through  your  sweet  influence,  and  the  care 

Of  pitying  Heaven,  at  least  were  free 

From  touch  of  deadly  injury?  40 

Destined  whate'er  their  earthly  doom. 

For  mercy  and  immortal  bloom  ! 

1817. 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY. 

Stay  near  me  —  do  not  take  thy  flight  ! 

A  little  longer  stay  in  sight ! 

Much  converse  do  I  find  in  thee, 

Historian  of  my  infancy  ! 

Float  near  me  ;  do  not  yet  depart  !  5 

Dead  times  revive  in  thee  : 

Thou  bring'st,  gay  creature  as  thou  art  I 

A  solemn  image  to  my  heart. 

My  father's  family  ! 

Oh  !  pleasant,  pleasant  were  the  days,  'o 

The  time,  when,  in  our  childish  plays. 

My  sister  Emmeline  and  I 

Together  chased  the  butterfly  ! 

A  very  hunter  did  I  rush 

Upon  the  prey  :  —  with  leaps  and  springs  'S 


136  TO    THE   CUCKOO. 

I  followed  on  from  brake  to  bush  ; 

But  she,  God  love  her,  feared  to  brush 

The  dust  from  off  its  wings.  1802. 


TO    THE    CUCKOO. 

0  BLITHE  New-comer  !     I  have  heard, 

1  hear  thee  and  rejoice. 

0  Cuckoo  !  shall  I  call  thee  Bird, 
Or  but  a  wandering  Voice  ? 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass  5 

Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear. 

From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass, 

At  once  far  off,  and  near. 

Though  babbling  only  to  the  Vale, 

Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers,  10 

Thou  bringest  unto  me  a  tale 

Of  visionary  hours. 

Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring  ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 

No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing,  15 

A  voice,  a  mystery  ; 

The  same  whom  in  my  school-boy  days 

1  listened  to  ;  that  Cry 

Which  made  me  look  a  thousand  ways 

In  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky.  20 

To  seek  thee  did  I  often  rove 
Through  woods  and  on  the  green  ; 
And  thou  wert  still  a  hope,  a  love  ; 
Still  longed  for,  never  seen. 


MY  HEART  LEAPS    UP    WHEN   I   BEHOLD." 


'37 


And  1  can  listen  to  thee  yet  ;  25 

Can  lie  upon  the  plain 
And  listen,  till  I  do  beget 
That  golden  time  again. 

O  blessed  Bird  !  the  earth  we  pace 

Again  appears  to  be  3° 

An  unsubstantial  taery  place. 

That  is  fit  home  for  Thee  ! 

1802. 


MY    HEART    LEAPS    UP    WHEN    I    BEHOLD." 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  rainbow  in  the  sky  : 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began  ; 
So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man  ; 
So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old, 

Or  let  me  die  ! 
The  Child  is  father  of  the  Man  ; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety. 


1802. 


WRITTEN    IN    MARCH, 

WHILE    RESTING    ON    THE    BRIDGE    AT    THE    FOOT    OK    BROTHER'S 
WATER. 


The  Cock  is  crowing. 
The  stream  is  flowing. 
The  small  birds  twitter, 
The  lake  doth  glitter. 


138    thb:  redbreast  chasing  ihe  jwjierelv. 

The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun  ;  5 

The  oldest  and  youngest 

Are  at  work  with  the  strongest ; 

The  cattle  are  grazing. 

Their  heads  never  raising  ; 
There  are  forty  feeding  like  one  !  .  10 

Like  an  army  defeated 

The  snow  hath  retreated, 

And  now  doth  fare  ill 

On  the  top  of  the  bare  hill  ; 

The  ploughboy  is  whooping  —  anon  —  anon  :  1 5 

There  's  joy  in  the  mountains  ; 

There  's  life  in  the  fountains  ; 

Small  clouds  are  sailing, 

Blue  sky  prevailing  ; 

The  rain  is  over  and  gone  !  .  20 

1802. 


THE  REDBREAST  CHASING  THE  BUTTERFLY. 

Art  thou  the  bird  whom  Man  loves  best, 
The  pious  bird  with  the  scarlet  breast, 

Our  little  English  Robin  ; 
The  bird  that  comes  about  our  doors 
When  Autumn-winds  are  sobbing .' 
Art  thou  the  Peter  of  Norway  Boors  ? 

Their  Thomas  in  Finland, 

And  Russia  far  inland  .' 
The  bird,  that  by  some  name  or  other 
All  men  who  know  thee  call  their  brother, 
The  darling  of  children  and  men  ? 


THE   REDBREAST   CHASING    THE    BUTTERELY. 


139 


Could  Father  Adam  ^  open  his  eyes 

And  see  this  sight  beneath  the  skies, 

He  'd  wish  to  close  them  again. 

—  If  the  Butterfly  knew  but  his  friend,  15 

Hither  his  flight  he  would  bend  ; 

And  find  his  way  to  me, 

Under  the  branches  of  the  tree  : 

In  and  out,  he  darts  about  ; 

Can  this  be  the  bird,  to  man  so  good.  20 

That,  after  their  bewildering, 

Covered  with  leaves  the  little  children, 

So  painfully  in  the  wood  ? 
What  ailed  thee,  Robin,  that  thou  could'st  pursue 

A  beautiful  creature,  25 

That  is  gentle  by  nature  ? 
Beneath  the  summer  sky 
From  flower  to  flower  let  him  fly  ; 
'T  is  all  that  he  wishes  to  do. 

The  cheerer  Thou  of  our  in-door  sadness,  30 

He  is  the  friend  of  our  summer  gladness  : 
What  hinders,  then,  that  ye  should  be 
Playmates  in  the  sunny  weather. 
And  fly  about  in  the  air  together  ! 

His  beautiful  wings  in  crimson  are  drest,  35 

A  crimson  as  bright  as  thine  own  : 
Would'st  thou  be  happy  in  thy  nest, 
O  pious  Bird  !   whom  man  loves  best, 
Love  him,  or  leave  him  alone  !  1802. 

1  See  Paradise  Lost,  Book  XI,  where  Adam  points  out  to  Eve 
the  ominous  sign  of  the  Eagle  chasing  "  two  birds  of  gayest  plume," 
and  the  gentle  Hart  and  Hind  pursued  by  their  enemy. 


140 


TO    THE   SMALL    CELANDINE. 

TO  A  BUTTERFLY. 

I  'vE  watched  you  now  a  full  half-hour, 

Self-poised  upon  that  yellow  flower  ; 

And,  little  Butterfiy  !  indeed 

I  know  not  if  you  sleep  or  feed. 

How  motionless  !  —  -  not  frozen  seas  5 

More  motionless  !  and  then 

What  joy  awaits  you,  when  the  breeze 

Hath  found  you  out  among  the  trees, 

And  calls  you  forth  again  ! 

This  plot  of  orchard-ground  is  ours  ;  10 

My  trees  they  are,  my  Sister's  flowers  ; 
Here  rest  your  wings  when  they  are  weary  ; 
Here  lodge  as  in  a  sanctuary  ! 
Come  often  to  us,  fear  no  wrong  ; 
Sit  near  us  on  the  bough  !  15 

We  '11  talk  of  sunshine  and  of  song. 
And  summer  days,  when  we  were  young  ; 
Sweet  childish  days,  that  were  as  long- 
As  twenty  days  are  now. 

1802. 


TO    THE    SMALL    CELANDINE.i 

Pansies,  lilies,  kingcups,  daisies. 
Let  them  live  upon  their  praises; 
Long  as  there  's  a  sun  that  sets, 
Primroses  will  have  their  glory ; 
Long  as  there  are  violets. 
They  will  have  a  place  in  story  : 

1  Common  Pilewort. 


TO    THE   SMALL    CELANDINE.  141 

There  's  a  flower  that  shall  be  mine, 
'T  is  the  little  Celandine. 

Eyes  of  some  men  travel  far 

For  the  finding  of  a  star  ;  10 

Up  and  down  the  heavens  they  go, 

Men  that  keep  a  mighty  rout ! 

I  'm  as  great  as  they,  I  trow, 

Since  the-  day  I  found  thee  out, 

Little  Flower  !  —  I  '11  make  a  stir,  15 

Like  a  sage  astronomer. 

Modest,  yet  withal  an  Elf 

Bold,  and  lavish  of  thyself  ; 

Since  we  needs  must  first  have  met 

I  have  seen  thee,  high  and  low,  20 

Thirty  years  or  more,  and  yet 

'T  was  a  face  I  did  not  know  : 

Thou  hast  now,  go  where  1  may, 

Fifty  greetings  in  a  day. 

Ere  a  leaf  is  on  a  bush,  25 

In  the  time  before  the  thrush 

Has  a  thought  about  her  nest, 

Thou  wilt  come  with  half  a  call. 

Spreading  out  thy  glossy  breast 

Like  a  careless  Prodigal  ;  3° 

Telling  tales  about  the  sun, 

When  we  've  little  warmth,  or  none. 

Poets,  vain  men  in  their  mood  ! 

Travel  with  the  multitude  : 

Never  heed  them  ;    I  aver  35 

That  they  all  are  wanton  wooers  ; 


142 


TO    THE   SMALL    CELAXDINE. 

But  the  thrifty  cottager, 

Who  stirs  little  out  of  doors, 

Joys  to  spy  thee  near  her  home  ; 

Spring  is  coming.  Thou  art  come  !  4° 

Comfort  have  thou  of  thy  merit, 

Kindly,  unassuming  Spirit ! 

Careless  of  thy  neighbourhood. 

Thou  dost  show  thy  pleasant  face 

On  the  moor,  and  in  the  wood,  45 

In  the  lane  ;  —  there  's  not  a  place. 

Howsoever  mean  it  be. 

But  't  is  good  enough  for  thee. 

Ill  befall  the  yellow  flowers. 

Children  of  the  flaring  hours  !  5° 

Buttercups,  that  will  be  seen. 

Whether  we  will  see  or  no  ; 

Others,  too,  of  lofty  mien  ; 

They  have  done  as  worldlings  do. 

Taken  praise  that  should  be  thine,  55 

Little,  humble  Celandine  ! 

Prophet  of  delight  and  mirth, 

Ill-requited  upon  earth  ; 

Herald  of  a  mighty  band. 

Of  a  joyous  train  ensuing,  6° 

Serving  at  my  heart's  command. 

Tasks  that  are  no  tasks  renewing, 

I  will  sing,  as  doth  behoove, 

Hymns  in  praise  of  what  I  love  ! 

1802. 


TO    THE   SAME   ELOWER.  143 

TO    THE    SAME    FLOWER. 

Pleasures  newly  found  are  sweet 

When  they  He  about  our  feet : 

February  last,  my  heart 

First  at  sight  of  thee  was  glad  ; 

All  unheard  of  as  thou  art,  5 

Thou  must  needs,  I  think,  have  had. 

Celandine  !   and  long  ago. 

Praise  of  which  I  nothing  know. 

1  have  not  a  doubt  but  he. 

Whosoe'er  the  man  might  be,  10 

Who  the  first  with  pointed  rays 

(Workman  worthy  to  be  sainted) 

Set  the  sign-board  in  a  blaze. 

When  the  rising  sun  he  painted. 

Took  the  fancy  from  a  glance  15 

At  thy  glittering  countenance. 

Soon  as  gentle  breezes  bring 

News  of  winter's  vanishing. 

And  the  children  build  their  bowers, 

Sticking  'kerchief-plots  of  mould  20 

All  about  with  full-blown  flowers. 

Thick  as  sheep  in  shepherd's  fold ! 

With  the  proudest  thou  art  there, 

Mantling  in  the  tiny  square. 

Often  have  I  sighed  to  measure  25 

By  myself  a  lonely  pleasure, 

Sighed  to  think,  I  read  a  book 

Only  read,  perhaps,  by  me  ; 

Yet  I  long  could  overlook 

Thy  bright  coronet  and  Thee,  3° 


144 


TO    THE   SAME   FLOWER. 

And  thy  arch  and  wily  ways. 
And  thy  store  of  other  praise. 

Blithe  of  heart,  from  week  to  week 

Thou  dost  play  at  hide-and-seek  ; 

While  the  patient  primrose  sits  35 

Like  a  beggar  in  the  cold, 

Thou,  a  flower  of  wiser  wits, 

Slipp'st  into  thy  sheltering  hold  ; 

Liveliest  of  the  vernal  train 

When  ye  all  are  out  again.  40 

Drawn  by  what  peculiar  spell. 

By  what  charm  of  sight  or  smell, 

Does  the  dim-eyed  curious  Bee, 

Labouring  for  her  waxen  cells, 

Fondly  settle  upon  Thee  45 

Prized  above  all  buds  and  bells 

Opening  daily  at  thy  side. 

By  the  season  multiplied  ? 

Thou  art  not  beyond  the  moon. 

But  a  thing  "  beneath  our  shoon  :  "  5° 

Let  the  bold  Discoverer  thrid 

In  his  bark  the  polar  sea ; 

Rear  who  will  a  pyramid  ; 

Praise  it  is  enough  for  me, 

If  there  be  but  three  or  four  55 

Who  will  love  my  little  Flower. 

1802 


RESOLUTfOA'  AND    INDEPENDENCE.  145 


RESOLUTION    AND    INDEPENDENCE. 


There  was  a  roaring  in  the  wind  all  night  ; 

The  rain  came  heavily  and  fell  in  floods : 

But  now  the  sun  is  rising  calm  and  bright ; 

The  birds  are  singing  in  the  distant  woods  ; 

Over  his  own  sweet  voice  the  Stock-dove  broods  ; 

The  Jay  makes  answer  as  the  Magpie  chatters  ; 

And  all  the  air  is  filled  with  pleasant  noise  of  waters. 


All  things  that  love  the  sun  are  out  of  doors  ; 

The  sky  rejoices  in  the  morning's  birth ; 

The  grass  is  bright  with  rain-drops  ; — on  the  moors 

The  hare  is  running  races  in  her  mirth  ; 

And  with  her  feet  she  from  the  plashy  earth 

Raises  a  mist,  that,  glittering  in  the  sun. 

Runs  with  her  all  the  way,  wherever  she  doth  run. 


I  was  a  Traveller  then  upon  the  moor,  15 

I  saw  the  hare  that  raced  about  with  joy ; 

I  heard  the  woods  and  distant  waters  roar; 

Or  heard  them  not,  as  happy  as  a  boy  : 

The  pleasant  season  did  my  heart  employ  : 

My  old  remembrances  went  from  me  wholly  ;  20 

And  all  the  ways  of  men,  so  vain  and  melancholy. 


But,  as  it  sometimes  chanceth,  from  the  might 
Of  joy  in  minds  that  can  no  further  go. 


146  RESOLUTION  AND    INDEPENDENCE. 

As  high  as  we  have  mounted  in  delight 
In  our  dejection  do  we  sink  as  low ;  25 

To  me  that  morning  did  it  happen  so : 
And  fears  and  fancies  thick  upon  me  came  ; 
Dim  sadness  —  and  blind  thoughts,  I  knew  not,  nor  could 
name. 


I  heard  the  sky-lark  warbling  in  the  sky ; 

And  I  bethought  me  of  the  playful  hare  :  3° 

Even  such  a  happy  Child  of  earth  am  I  : 

Even  as  these  blissful  creatures  do  I  fare  ; 

Far  from  the  world  I  walk,  and  from  all  care  ; 

But  there  may  come  another  day  to  me  — 

Solitude,  pain  of  heart,  distress,  and  poverty.  35 


My  whole  life  I  have  lived  in  pleasant  thought. 

As  if  life's  business  were  a  summer  mood ; 

As  if  all  needful  things  would  come  unsought 

To  genial  faith,  still  rich  in  genial  good ; 

But  how  can  He  expect  that  others  should  40 

Build  for  him,  sow  for  him,  and  at  his  call 

Love  him,  who  for  himself  will  take  no  heed  at  all  ? 


I  thought  of  Chatterton,  the  marvellous  Boy, 

The  sleepless  Soul  that  perished  in  his  pride ; 

Of  Him  who  walked  in  glory  and  in  joy  45 

Following  his  plough,  along  the  mountain-side : 

By  our  own  spirits  are  we  deified  : 

We  Poets  in  our  youth  begin  in  gladness  ; 

But  thereof  come  in  the  end  despondency  and  madness. 


RESOLUTION  AND    INDEPENDENCE. 


»47 


Now,  whether  it  were  by  peculiar  grace,  50' 

A  leading  from  above,  a  something  given. 

Yet  it  befell,  that,  in  this  lonely  place. 

When  I  with  these  untoward  thoughts  had  striven, 

Beside  a  pool  bare  to  the  eye  of  heaven 

I  saw  a  Man  before  me  unawares  :  55 

The  oldest  man  he  seemed  that  ever  wore  grey  hairs. 


As  a  huge  stone  is  sometimes  seen  to  lie 

Couched  on  the  bald  top  of  an  eminence ; 

Wonder  to  all  who  do  the  same  espy, 

By  what  means  it  could  thither  come,  and  whence ;  60 

So  that  it  seems  a  thing  endued  with  sense  : 

Like  a  sea-beast  crawled  forth,  that  on  a  shelf 

Of  rock  or  sand  reposeth,  there  to  sun  itself ; 


Such  seemed  this  Man,  not  all  alive  nor  dead, 

Nor  all  asleep  —  in  his  extreme  old  age  :  65 

His  body  was  bent  double,  feet  and  head 

Coming  together  in  life's  pilgrimage  ; 

As  if  some  dire  constraint  of  pain,  or  rage 

Of  sickness  felt  by  him  in  times  long  past, 

A  more  than  human  weight  upon  his  frame  had  cast.  70 


Himself  he  propped,  limbs,  body,  and  pale  face, 

Upon  a  long  grey  staff  of  shaven  wood  : 

And,  still  as  I  drew  near  with  gentle  pace. 

Upon  the  margin  of  that  moorish  flood 

Motionless  as  a  cloud  the  old  Man  stood,  75 


148  RESOLUTION  AND   INDEPENDENCE. 

That  heareth  not  the  loud  winds  when  they  call 
And  moveth  all  together,  if  it  move  at  all. 


At  length,  himself  unsettling,  he  the  pond 

Stirred  with  his  staff,  and  iixedly  did  look 

Upon  the  muddy  water,  which  he  conned,  80 

As  if  he  had  been  reading  in  a  book  ; 

And  now  a  stranger's  privilege  I  took  ; 

And,  drawing  to  his  side,  to  him  did  say, 

"  This  morning  gives  us  promise  of  a  glorious  day." 


A  gentle  answer  did  the  old  Man  make,  85 

In  courteous  speech  which  forth  he  slowly  drew : 

And  him  with  further  words  I  thus  bespake, 

"  What  occupation  do  you  there  pursue  ? 

This  is  a  lonesome  place  for  one  like  you." 

Ere  he  replied,  a  flash  of  mild  surprise  90 

Broke  from  the  sable  orbs  of  his  yet-vivid  eyes, 


His  words  came  feebly,  from  a  feeble  chest. 

But  each  in  solemn  order  followed  each. 

With  something  of  a  lofty  utterance  drest  — 

Choice  word  and  measured  phrase,  above  the  reach  9^ 

Of  ordinary  men  ;   a  stately  speech  ; 

Such  as  grave  Livers  do  in  Scotland  use. 

Religious  men,  who  give  to  God  and  man  their  dues. 


He  told,  that  to  these  waters  he  had  come 
To  gather  leeches,  being  old  and  poor : 


RESOLUTION  AND    INDEPENDENCE. 


149 


Employment  hazardous  and  wearisome  ! 

And  he  had  man)'  hardships  to  endure  : 

From  pond  to  pond  he  roamed,  from  moor  to  moor ; 

Housing,  with  God's  good  help,  by  choice  or  chance. 

And  in  this  way  he  gained  an  honest  maintenance.  105 


The  old  Man  still  stood  talking  by  my  side  ; 

But  now  his  voice  to  me  was  like  a  stream 

Scarce  heard  ;  nor  word  from  word  could  1  divide  ; 

And  the  whole  body  of  the  Man  did  seem 

Like  one  whom  I  had  met  with  in  a  dream ; 

Or  like  a  man  from  some  far  region  sent. 

To  give  me  human  strength,  by  apt  admonishment. 


My  former  thoughts  returned  :  the  fear  that  kills  ; 

And  hope  that  is  unwilling  to  be  fed ; 

Cold,  pain,  and  labour,  and  all  fleshly  ills:  115 

And  mighty  Poets  in  their  misery  dead. 

—  Perplexed,  and  longing  to  be  comforted, 

My  question  eagerly  did  I  renew, 

"  How  is  it  that  you  live,  and  what  is  it  you  do  .'  " 


He  with  a  smile  did  then  his  words  repeat ;  120 

And  said,  that,  gathering  leeches,  far  and  wide 

He  travelled  ;  stirring  thus  about  his  feet 

The  waters  of  the  pools  where  they  abide. 

"  Once  I  could  meet  with  them  on  every  side  ; 

But  they  have  dwindled  long  by  slow  decay ;  125 

Yet  still  I  persevere,  and  find  them  where  I  may.'" 


5° 


STANZAS. 


While  he  was  talking  thus,  the  lonely  place, 

The  old  Man's  shape,  and  speech  —  all  troubled  me  : 

In  my  mind's  eye  I  seemed  to  see  him  pace 

About  the  weary  moors  continually,  130 

Wandering  about  alone  and  silently. 

While  1  these  thoughts  within  myself  pursued. 

He.  having  made  a  pause,  the  same  discourse  renewed. 


And  soon  with  this  he  other  matter  blended. 
Cheerfully  uttered,  with  demeanour  kind,  135 

But  stately  in  the  main  ;   and  when  he  ended, 
I  could  have  laughed  myself  to  scorn  to  find 
In  that  decrepit  Man  so  firm  a  mind. 
"  God,"  said  I,  "  be  my  help  and  stay  secure  ; 
I  '11  think  of  the  Leech-gatherer  on  the  lonely  moor !  "       140 

1802. 


STANZAS 

Written  in  my  Pocket-Copy  of  Thomson's  "Castle  of  Indolence." 

Within  our  happy  Castle  there  dwelt  One 

Whom  without  blame  I  may  not  overlook : 

For  never  sun  on  living  creature  shone 

Who  more  devout  enjoyment  with  us  took : 

Here  on  his  hours  he  hung  as  on  a  book, 

On  his  own  time  here  would  he  float  away, 

As  doth  a  fly  upon  a  summer  brook  : 

But  go  to-morrow,  or  belike  to-day. 

Seek  for  him,  —  he  is  fled ;   and  whither  none  can  say. 


STA.VZAS. 


151 


Thus  often  would  he  leave  our  peaceful  home,  »o 

And  find  elsewhere  his  business  or  delight ; 

Out  of  our  Valley's  limits  did  he  roam  : 

P'ull  many  a  time,  upon  a  stormy  night, 

His  voice  came  to  us  from  the  neighbouring  height  : 

Oft  could  we  see  him  driving  full  in  view  15 

At  mid-day  when  the  sun  was  shining  bright ; 

What  ill  was  on  him,  what  he  had  to  do. 

A  mighty  wonder  bred  among  our  quiet  crew. 

Ah !  piteous  sight  it  was  to  see  this  Man 

When  he  came  back  to  us,  a  withered  flower,  —  20 

Or  like  a  sinful  creature,  pale  and  wan. 

Down  would  he  sit ;  and  without  strength  or  power 

Look  at  the  common  grass  from  hour  to  hour  : 

And  oftentimes,  how  long  I  fear  to  say. 

Where  apple-trees  in  blossom  made  a  bower.  25 

Retired  in  that  sunshiny  shade  he  lay  ; 

And,  like  a  naked  Indian,  slept  himself  away. 

Great  wonder  to  our  gentle  tribe  it  was 

Whenever  from  our  Valley  he  withdrew  ; 

For  happier  soul  no  living  creature  has  30 

Than  he  had,  being  here  the  long  day  through. 

Some  thought  he  was  a  lover,  and  did  woo  : 

Some  thought  far  worse  of  him,  and  judged  him  wrong  : 

But  verse  was  what  he  had  been  wedded  to  ; 

And  his  own  mind  did  like  a  tempest  strong  35 

Come  to  him  thus,  and  drove  the  weary  Wight  along. 

With  him  there  often  walked  in  friendly  guise, 

Or  lay  upon  the  moss  by  brook  or  tree, 

A  noticeable  Man  with  large  gray  eyes. 

And  a  pale  face  that  seemed  undoubtedly  40 

As  if  a  bloomins  face  it  ought  to  be  ; 


152 


STANZAS. 


Heavy  his  low-hung  lip  did  oft  appear, 

Deprest  by  weight  of  musing  Phantasy  ; 

Profound  his  forehead  was,  though  not  severe  : 

Yet  some  did  think  that  he  had  little  business  here  :  45 

Sweet  heaven  forfend !  his  was  a  lawful  right ; 

Noisy  he  was,  and  gamesome  as  a  boy ; 

His  limbs  would  toss  about  him  with  delight 

Like  branches  when  strong  winds  the  trees  annoy. 

Nor  lacked  his  calmer  hours  device  or  toy  50 

To  banish  listlessness  and  irksome  care  ; 

He  would  have  taught  you  how  you  might  employ 

Yourself;  and  many  did  to  him  repair, — 

And  certes  not  in  vain  ;  he  had  inventions  rare. 

Expedients,  too,  of  simplest  sort  he  tried  :  55 

Long  blades  of  grass,  plucked  round  him  as  he  lay, 

Made,  to  his  ear  attentively  applied, 

A  pipe  on  which  the  wind  would  deftly  play  ; 

Glasses  he  had,  that  little  things  display. 

The  beetle  panoplied  in  gems  and  gold,  60 

A  mailed  angel  on  a  battle-day ; 

The  mysteries  that  cups  of  flowers  enfold, 

And  all  the  gorgeous  sights  which  fairies  do  behold. 

He  would  entice  that  other  Man  to  hear 
His  music,  and  to  view  his  imagery :  65 

And,  sooth,  these  two  were  each  to  the  other  dear  : 
No  livelier  love  in  such  a  place  could  be  : 
There  did  they  dwell  —  from  earthly  labour  free. 
As  happy  spirits  as  were  ever  seen  ; 

If  but  a  bird,  to  keep  them  company,  70 

Or  butterfly  sate  down,  they  were,  I  ween, 
As  pleased  as  if  the  same  had  been  a  Maiden-queen. 

1802. 


A    FAREWELL. 


A    FAREWELF.. 


53 


Farewell,  thou  little  Nook  of  mountain-ground. 

Thou  rocky  corner  in  the  lowest  stair 

Of  that  magnificent  temple  which  doth  bound 

One  side  of  our  whole  vale  with  grandeur  rare  ; 

Sweet  garden-orchard,  eminently  fair,  5 

The  loveliest  spot  that  man  hath  ever  found, 

Farewell !  —  we  leave  thee  to  Heaven's  peaceful  care. 

Thee,  and  the  Cottage  which  thou  dost  surround. 

Our  boat  is  safely  anchored  by  the  shore, 

And  there  will  safely  ride  when  we  are  gone  ;  lo 

The  flowering  shrubs  that  deck  our  humble  door 

Will  prosper,  though  untended  and  alone  : 

Fields,  goods,  and  far-off  chattels  we  have  none  : 

These  narrow  bounds  contain  our  private  store 

Of  things  earth  makes,  and  sun  doth  shine  upon  ;  15 

Here  are  they  in  our  sight  —  we  have  no  more. 

Sunshine  and  shower  be  with  you,  bud  and  bell ! 

For  two  months  now  in  vain  we  shall  be  sought : 

We  leave  you  here  in  solitude  to  dwell 

With  these  our  latest  gifts  of  tender  thought  :  20 

Thou,  like  the  morning,  in  thy  saffron  coat, 

Bright  gowan,  and  marsh-marigold,  farewell  ! 

Whom  from  the  borders  of  the  Lake  we  brought. 

And  placed  together  near  our  rocky  Well. 

We  go  for  One  to  whom  ye  will  be  dear  ;  25 

And  she  will  prize  this  Bower,  this  Indian  shed, 

Our  own  contrivance,  Building  without  peer  I 

—  A  gentle  Maid,  whose  heart  is  lowly  bred, 

Whose  pleasures  are  in  wild  fields  gathered, 

With  joyousness,  and  with  a  thoughtful  cheer,  3° 


ir^^  A    FAREWELL. 

Will  come  to  you  ;   to  you  herself  will  wed  ; 
And  love  the  blessed  life  that  we  lead  here. 

Dear  Spot !  which  we  have  watched  with  tender  heed, 

Bringing  thee  chosen  plants  and  blossoms  blown 

Among  the  distant  mountains,  flower  and  weed,  35 

Which  thou  hast  taken  to  thee  as  thy  own, 

Making  all  kindness  registered  and  known  ; 

Thou  for  our  sakes,  though  Nature's  child  indeed, 

Fair  in  thyself  and  beautiful  alone, 

Hast  taken  gifts  which  thou  dost  little  need.  4© 

And  O  most  constant,  yet  most  fickle  Place, 

Thou  hast  thy  wayward  moods,  as  thou  dost  show 

To  them  who  look  not  daily  on  thy  face  ; 

Who,  being  loved,  in  love  no  bounds  dost  know. 

And  say'st,  when  we  forsake  thee,  "  Let  them  go  !  "        45 

Thou  easy-hearted  Thing,  with  thy  wild  race 

Of  weeds  and  flowers,  till  we  return  be  slow. 

And  travel  with  the  year  at  a  soft  pace. 

Help  us  to  tell  Her  tales  of  years  gone  by, 

And  this  sweet  spring,  the  best  beloved  and  best  ;  5° 

Joy  will  be  flown  in  its  mortality  ; 

Something  must  stay  to  tell  us  of  the  rest. 

Here,  thronged  with  primroses,  the  steep  rock's  breast 

Glittered  at  evening  like  a  starry  sky  ; 

And  in  this  bush  our  sparrow  built  her  nest,  55 

Of  which  I  sang  one  song  that  will  not  die. 

O  happy  Garden  !  whose  seclusion  deep 

Hath  been  so  friendly  to  industrious  hours  ; 

And  to  soft  slumbers,  that  did  gently  steep 

Our  spirits,  carrying  with  them  dreams  of  flowers,  6o 

And  wild  notes  warbled  among  leafy  bowers ; 


TO   //.    C. 


155 


Two  burning  months  let  summer  overleap, 
And,  coming  back  with  Her  who  will  be  ours, 
Into  thy  bosom  we  again  shall  creep. 


1802. 


TO    H.    C. 


SIX    YEARS    OLD. 


O  THOU  !  whose  fancies  from  afar  are  brought : 

Who  of  thy  words  dost  make  a  mock  apparel, 

And  fittest  to  unutterable  thought 

The  breeze-like  motion  and  the  self-born  carol ; 

Thou  faery  voyager  !  that  dost  tioat  5 

In  such  clear  water,  that  thy  boat 

May  rather  seem 

To  brood  on  air  than  on  an  earthly  stream  ; 

Suspended  in  a  stream  as  clear  as  sky, 

Where  earth  and  heaven  do  make  one  imagery  ;  10 

0  blessed  vision  !  happy  child  ! 
Thou  art  so  exquisitely  wild, 

1  think  of  thee  with  many  fears 

For  what  may  be  thy  lot  in  future  years. 

I  thought  of  times  when  Pain  might  be  thy  guest,        '5 
Lord  of  thy  house  and  hospitality  ; 
And  Grief,  uneasy  lover  !  never  rest 
But  when  she  sate  within  the  touch  of  thee. 
O  too  industrious  folly  ! 

O  vain  and  causeless  melancholy  !  20 

Nature  will  either  end  thee  quite  ; 
Or,  lengthening  out  thy  season  of  delight. 
Preserve  for  thee,  by  individual  right, 
A  young  lamb's  heart  among  the  full-grown  flocks. 


S6 


TO    THE    DAISY. 


What  hast  thou  to  do  with  sorrow,  '  25 

Or  the  injuries  of  to-morrow  ? 

Thou  art  a  dew-drop,  which  the  morn  brings  forth, 

111  fitted  to  sustain  unkindly  shocks, 

Or  to  be  trailed  along  the  soiling  earth  ; 

A  gem  that  glitters  while  it  lives,  3° 

And  no  forewarning  gives  ; 

But,  at  the  touch  of  wrong,  without  a  strife 

Slips  in  a  moment  out  of  life. 

1802. 


TO   THE    DAISY. 

"  Her^  divine  skill  taught  me  this, 
That  from  every  thing  I  saw 
I  could  some  instruction  draw, 
And  raise  pleasure  to  the  height 
Through  the  meanest  object's  sight. 
By  the  murmur  of  a  spring, 
Or  the  least  bough's  rustelling  ; 
By  a  Daisy  whose  leaves  spread 
Shut  when  Titan  goes  to  bed  ; 
Or  a  shady  bush  or  tree  ; 
She  could  more  infuse  in  me 
Than  all  Nature's  beauties  can 
In  some  other  wiser  man." 


G    Wither. 


In  youth  from  rock  to  rock  I  went. 
From  hill  to  hill  in  discontent 
Of  pleasure  high  and  turbulent. 

Most  pleased  when  most  uneasy ; 
But  now  my  own  delights  I  make,  — 
My  thirst  at  every  rill  can  slake, 
And  gladly  Nature's  love  partake, 

Of  Thee,  sweet  Daisy  ! 
1  His  muse. 


TO    THE    J)AISY.  157 

Thee  Winter  in  the  garland  wears 

That  thinly  decks  his  few  grey  hairs ;  10 

Spring  parts  the  clouds  with  softest  airs, 

That  she  may  sun  thee  ; 
Whole  Summer-fields  are  thine  by  right ; 
And  Autumn,  melancholy  Wight  ! 
Doth  in  thy  crimson  head  delight  15 

When  rains  are  on  thee. 

In  shoals  and  bands,  a  morrice  train, 
Thou  greet'st  the  traveller  in  the  lane  ; 
Pleased  at  his  greeting  thee  again  ; 

Yet  nothing  daunted,  20 

Nor  grieved  if  thou  be  set  at  nought : 
And  oft  alone  in  nooks  remote 
We  meet  thee,  like  a  pleasant  thought, 

When  such  are  wanted. 

Be  violets  in  their  secret  mews  25 

The  flowers  the  wanton  Zephyrs  choose  ; 
Proud  be  the  rose,  with  rains  and  dews 

Her  head  impearling, 
Thou  liv'st  with  less  ambitious  aim, 
Yet  hast  not  gone  without  thy  fame  ;  3° 

Thou  art  indeed  by  many  a  claim 

The  Poet's  darling. 

If  to  a  rock  from  rains  he  fly. 

Or,  some  bright  day  of  April  sky, 

Imprisoned  by  hot  sunshine  lie  35 

Near  the  green  holly, 
And  wearily  at  length  should  fare  ; 
He  needs  but  look  about,  and  there 
Thou  art !  —  a  friend  at  hand,  to  scare 

His  melancholy.  4° 


158  TO    THE   DAISY. 

A  hundred  times,  by  rock  or  bower, 
Ere  thus  I  have  lain  couched  an  hour, 
Have  I  derived  from  thy  sweet  power 

Some  apprehension  ; 
Some  steady  love  ;  some  brief  delight  ;  45 

Some  memory  that  had  taken  flight  ; 
Some  chime  of  fancy  wrong  or  right ; 

Or  stray  invention. 

If  stately  passions  in  me  burn. 

And  one  chance  look  to  Thee  should  turn,  5° 

I  drink  out  of  an  humbler  urn 

A  lowlier  pleasure  ; 
The  homely  sympathy  that  heeds 
The  common  life,  our  nature  breeds  ; 
A  wisdom  fitted  to  the  needs  55 

Of  hearts  at  leisure. 

Fresh-smitten  by  the  morning  ray. 
When  thou  art  up,  alert  and  gay. 
Then,  cheerful  Flower  !  my  spirits  play 

With  kindred  gladness  :  60 

And  when,  at  dusk,  by  dews  opprest 
Thou  sink'st,  the  image  of  thy  rest 
Hath  often  eased  my  pensive  breast 

Of  careful  sadness. 

And  all  day  long  I  number  yet,  65 

All  seasons  through,  another  debt, 
Which  I,  wherever  thou  art  met, 

To  thee  am  owing  ; 
An  instinct  call  it,  a  blind  sense  ; 
A  happy,  genial  influence,  1° 

Coming  one  knows  not  how,  nor  whence, 

Nor  whither  sroins:. 


TO    THE   SAME   ELOWER. 


159 


Child  of  the  Year  !  that  round  dost  run 

Thy  pleasant  course,  —  when  day  's  begun 

As  ready  to  salute  the  sun  75 

As  lark  or  leveret, 

Thy  long-lost  praise  thou  shalt  regain  ; 

Nor  be  less  dear  to  future  men 

Than  in  old  time  ;  —  thou  not  in  vain 

Art  Nature's  favourite.^  80 

1802. 


TO   THE    SAME    FLOWER. 

With  little  here  to  do  or  see 

Of  things  that  in  the  great  world  be, 

Daisy !  again  I  talk  to  thee, 

For  thou  art  worthy, 
Thou  unassuming  Common-place  5 

Of  Nature,  with  that  homely  face, 
And  yet  with  something  of  a  grace, 

Which  Love  makes  for  thee  ! 

Oft  on  the  dappled  turf  at  ease 

I  sit,  and  play  with  similes,  10 

Loose  types  of  things  through  all  degrees. 

Thoughts  of  thy  raising  : 
And  many  a  fond  and  idle  name 
I  give  to  thee,  for  praise  or  blame, 
As  is  the  humour  of  the  game,  iS 

While  I  am  gazing. 

A  nun  demure  of  lowly  port ; 

Or  sprightly  maiden,  of  Love's  court, 

^  See,  in  Chaucer  and  the  elder  Poets,  the  honours  formerly  paid 
to  this  flower. 


l6o  TO    THE   SAME    FLOWER. 

In  thy  simplicity  the  sport 

Of  all  temptations  ;  20 

A  queen  in  crown  of  rubies  drest ; 
A  starveling  in  a  scanty  vest ; 
Are  all,  as  seems  to  suit  thee  best, 

Thy  appellations. 

A  little  Cyclops,  with  one  eye  25 

Staring  to  threaten  and  defy, 

That  thought  comes  next  —  and  instantly 

The  freak  is  over, 
The  shape  will  vanish  —  and  behold 
A  silver  shield  with  boss  of  gold,  30 

That  spreads  itself,  some  faery  bold 

In  fight  to  cover  ! 

I  see  thee  glittering  from  afar  — 
And  then  thou  art  a  pretty  star  ; 
Not  quite  so  fair  as  many  are  35 

In  heaven  above  thee  ! 
Yet  like  a  star,  with  glittering  crest, 
Self-poised  in  air  thou  seem'st  to  rest ;  — 
May  peace  come  never  to  his  nest, 

Who  shall  reprove  thee  !  4° 

Bright  Flower .'  for  by  that  name  at  last. 

When  all  my  reveries  are  past, 

I  call  thee,  and  to  that  cleave  fast, 

Sweet  silent  creature  ! 

That  breath'st  with  me  in  sun  and  air,  45 

Do  thou,  as  thou  art  wont,  repair 

My  heart  with  gladness,  and  a  share 

Of  thy  meek  nature  ! 

1802. 


TO    THE    DAISY.  i6i 


TO    THE    DAISY. 

Bright  Flower  !  whose  home  is  everywhere, 

Bold  in  maternal  Nature's  care, 

And  all  the  long  year  through  the  heir 

Of  joy  or  sorrow  ; 
Methinks  that  there  abides  in  thee  5 

Some  concord  with  humanity, 
Given  to  no  other  flower  I  see 

The  forest  thorough  ! 

Is  it  that  Man  is  soon  deprest  ? 

A  thoughtless  Thing  !  who,  once  unblest,  lo 

Does  little  on  his  memory  rest, 

Or  on  his  reason, 
And  Thou  would'st  teach  him  how  to  tind 
A  shelter  under  every  wind, 
A  hope  for  times  that  are  unkind  iS 

And  every  season  ? 

Thou  wander'st  the  wide  world  about, 
Unchecked  by  pride  or  scrupulous  doubt, 
With  friends  to  greet  thee,  or  without. 

Yet  pleased  and  willing  ;  20 

Meek,  yielding  to  the  occasion's  call, 
And  all  things  suffering  from  all. 
Thy  function  apostolical 

In  peace  fulfilling. 

1802. 


1 62      THE   ATTRACTIONS   OF   THE   BUSY  WORLD. 


WHEN    TO    THE    ATTRACTIONS    OF   THE    BUSY 
WORLD. 

When,  to  the  attractions  of  the  busy  world, 

Preferring  studious  leisure,  I  had  chosen 

A  habitation  in  this  peaceful  Vale, 

Sharp  season  followed  of  continual  storm 

In  deepest  winter  ;  and,  from  week  to  week,  5 

Pathway,  and  lane,  and  public  road,  were  clogged 

With  frequent  showers  of  snow.     Upon  a  hill 

At  a  short  distance  from  my  cottage,  stands 

A  stately  Fir-grove,  whither  I  was  wont 

To  hasten,  for  I  found,  beneath  the  roof  10 

Of  that  perennial  shade,  a  cloistral  place 

Of  refuge,  with  an  unincumbered  floor. 

Here,  in  safe  covert,  on  the  shallow  snow,     . 

And,  sometimes,  on  a  speck  of  visible  earth, 

The  redbreast  near  me  hopped  ;  nor  was  I  loth  1 5 

To  sympathise  with  vulgar  coppice  birds 

That,  for  protection  from  the  nipping  blast. 

Hither  repaired.  —  A  single  beech-tree  grew 

Within  this  grove  of  firs  !  and,  on  the  fork 

Of  that  one  beech,  appeared  a  thrush's  nest ;  20 

A  last  year's  nest,  conspicuously  built 

At  such  small  elevation  from  the  ground 

As  gave  sure  sign  that  they,  who  in  that  house 

Of  nature  and  of  love  had  made  their  home 

Amid  the  fir-trees,  all  the  summer  long  25 

Dwelt  in  a  tranquil  spot.     And  oftentimes, 

A  few  sheep,  stragglers  from  some  mountain-flock. 

Would  watch  my  motions  with  suspicious  stare, 

From  the  remotest  outskirts  of  the  grove,  — 

Some  nook  where  they  had  made  their  final  stand,      3° 


THE   ATTRACTIONS   OF    THE   BUSY  WORLD.        163 

Huddling  together  from  two  fears  —  the  fear 

Of  me  and  of  the  storm.      Full  many  an  hour 

Here  did  I  lose.     But  in  this  grove  the  trees 

Had  been  so  thickly  planted,  and  had  thriven 

In  such  perplexed  and  intricate  array,  35 

That  vainly  did  I  seek,  beneath  their  stems 

A  length  of  open  space,  where  to  and  fro 

My  feet  might  move  without  concern  or  care : 

And,  baffled  thus,  though  earth  from  day  to  day 

Was  fettered,  and  the  air  by  storm  disturbed,  40 

I  ceased  the  shelter  to  frequent,  —  and  prized. 

Less  than  I  wished  to  prize,  that  calm  recess. 

The  snows  dissolved,  and  genial  Spring  returned 
To  clothe  the  fields  with  verdure.     Other  haunts 
Meanwhile  were  mine  ;  till,  one  bright  April  day,  45 

By  chance  retiring  from  the  glare  of  noon 
To  this  forsaken  covert,  there  I  found 
A  hoary  pathway  traced  between  the  trees, 
And  winding  on  with  such  an  easy  line 
Along  a  natural  opening,  that  I  stopd  5° 

Much  wondering  how  I  could  have  sought  in  vain 
For  what  was  now  so  obvious.     To  abide, 
For  an  allotted  interval  of  ease. 
Under  my  cottage-roof,  had  gladly  come 
From  the  wild  sea  a  cherished  Visitant ;  55 

And  with  the  sight  of  this  same  path  —  begun, 
Begun  and  ended,  in  the  shady  grove. 
Pleasant  conviction  flashed  upon  my  mind 
That,  to  this  opportune  recess  allured. 
He  had  surveyed  it  with  a  finer  eye,  60 

A  heart  more  wakeful ;  and  had  worn  the  track 
By  pacing  here,  unwearied  and  alone, 
In  that  habitual  restlessness  of  foot 
That  haunts  the  Sailor  measuring  o'er  and  o'er 


164      THE    ATTRACTIONS   OF    THE   BUSY   WORLD. 

His  short  domain  upon  the  vessel's  deck,  65 

While  she  pursues  her  course  through  the  dreary  sea. 

When  thou  hadst  quitted  Esthwaite's  pleasant  shore. 
And  taken  thy  first  leave  of  those  green  hills 
And  rocks  that  were  the  play-ground  of  thy  youth, 
Year  followed  year,  my  Brother  !   and  "we  two,  70 

Conversing  not,  knew  little  in  what  mould 
Each  other's  mind  was  fashioned  ;  and  at  length, 
When  once  again  we  met  in  Grasmere  Vale, 
Between  us  there  was  little  other  bond 
Than  common  feelings  of  fraternal  love.  75 

But  thou,  a  Schoolboy,  to  the  sea  hadst  carried 
Undying  recollections  !   Nature  there 
Was  with  thee  ;  she,  who  loved  us  both,  she  still 
Was  with  thee  ;  and  even  so  didst  thou  become 
A  silent  Poet  ;  from  the  solitude  80 

Of  the  vast  sea  didst  bring  a  watchful  heart 
Still  couchant,  an  inevitable  ear. 
And  an  eye  practised  like  a  blind  man's  touch. 
—  Back  to  the  joyless  Ocean  thou  art  gone  ; 
Nor  from  this  vestige  of  thy  musing  hours  85 

Could  I  withhold  thy  honoured  name,  —  and  now 
I  love  the  fir-grove  with  a  perfect  love. 
Thither  do  I  withdraw  when  cloudless  suns 
Shine  hot,  or  wind  blows  troublesome  and  strong ; 
And  there  I  sit  at  evening,  when  the  steep  9° 

Of  Silver-how,  and  Grasmere's  peaceful  lake, 
And  one  green  island,  gleam  between  the  stems 
Of  the  dark  firs,  a  visionary  scene  ! 
And,  while  I  gaze  upon  the  spectacle 
Of  clouded  splendour,  on  this  dream-like  sight  95 

Of  solemn  loveliness,  I  think  on  thee, 
My  Brother,  and  on  all  which  thou  hast  lost. 
Nor  seldom,  if  I  rightly  guess,  while  Thou, 


THE    GREEN  LINNET. 


165 


Muttering  the  verses  which  I  muttered  first 
Among  the  mountains,  through  the  midnight  watch    'oo 
Art  pacing  thoughtfully  the  vessel's  deck 
In  some  far  region,  here,  while  o'er  my  head. 
At  every  impulse  of  the  moving  breeze, 
The  fir-grove  murmurs  with  a  sea-like  sound, 
Alone  I  tread  this  path  ;  —  for  aught  I  know,  105 

Timing  my  steps  to  thine  ;  and,  with  a  store 
Of  undistinguishable  sympathies, 
Mingling  most  earnest  wishes  for  the  day 
When  we,  and  others  whom  we  love,  shall  meet 
A  second  time,  in  Grasmere's  happy  Vale.  "o 

1800-1802. 

Note.  —  This  wish  was  not  granted;  the  lamented  Person  not 
long  after  perished  by  shipwreck,  in  discharge  of  his  duty  as  Com- 
mander of  the  Honourable  East  India  Company's  Vessel,  the  Earl 
of  Abergavenny. 


THE    GREEN    LINNET. 

Beneath  these  fruit-tree  boughs  that  shed 
Their  snow-white  blossoms  on  my  head. 
With  brightest  sunshine  round  me  spread 

Of  spring's  unclouded  weather. 
In  this  sequestered  nook  how  sweet 
To  sit  upon  my  orchard-seat ! 
And  birds  and  flowers  once  more  to  greet, 

My  last  year's  friends  together. 

One  have  I  marked,  the  happiest  guest 
In  all  this  covert  of  the  blest : 
Hail  to  Thee,  far  above  the  rest 
In  joy  of  voice  and  pinion  ! 


1 66  THE    GREEN  LINNET. 

Thou,  Linnet !   in  thy  green  array, 
Presiding  Spirit  here  to-day, 

Dost  lead  the  revels  of  the  May  ;  15 

And  this  is  thy  dominion. 

While  birds,  and  butterHies,  and  flowers, 
Make  all  one  band  of  paramours. 
Thou,  ranging  up  and  down  the  bowers, 

Art  sole  in  thy  employment  :  20 

A  Life,  a  Presence  like  the  Air. 
Scattering  thy  gladness  without  care, 
Too  blest  with  any  one  to  pair  ; 

Thyself  thy  own  enjoyment. 

Amid  yon  tuft  of  hazel  trees,  25 

That  twinkle  to  the  gusty  breeze. 
Behold  him  perched  in  ecstasies, 

Yet  seeming  still  to  hover  ; 
There  !   where  the  flutter  of  his  wings 
Upon  his  back  and  body  flings  30 

Shadows  and  sunny  glimmerings, 

That  cover  him  all  over. 

My  dazzled  sight  he  oft  deceives, 
A  Brother  of  the  dancing  leaves  ; 
Then  flits,  and  from  the  cottage-eaves  35 

Pours  forth  his  song  in  gushes  ; 
As  if  by  that  exulting  strain 
He  mocked  and  treated  with  disdain 
The  voiceless  Form  he  chose  to  feign. 

While  fluttering  in  the  bushes.  4° 

1803. 


YEW-TREES.  167 


YEW-TREES. 

There  is  a  Yew-tree,  pride  of  Lorton  Vale, 

Which  to  this  day  stands  single,  in  the  midst 

Of  its  own  darkness,  as  it  stood  of  yore  ; 

Not  loth  to  furnish  weapons  for  the  bands 

Of  Umfraville  or  Percy  ere  they  marched  5 

To  Scotland's  heaths  ;  or  those  that  crossed  the  sea 

And  drew  their  sounding  bows  at  Azincour, 

Perhaps  at  earlier  Crecy,  or  Poictiers. 

Of  vast  circumference  and  gloom  profound 

This  solitary  Tree  !  a  living  thing  10 

Produced  too  slowly  ever  to  decay  ; 

Of  form  and  aspect  too  magnificent 

To  be  destroyed.     But  worthier  still  of  note 

Are  those  fraternal  Four  of  Borrowdale, 

Joined  in  one  solemn  and  capacious  grove  ;  15 

Huge  trunks  !  and  each  particular  trunk  a  growth 

Of  intertwisted  fibres  serpentine 

Up-coiling,  and  inveterately  convolved  ; 

Nor  uninformed  with  Phantasy,  and  looks 

That  threaten  the  profane  ;  —  a  pillared  shade,  20 

Upon  whose  grassless  floor  of  red-brown  hue, 

By  sheddings  from  the  pining  umbrage  tinged 

Perennially  —  beneath  whose  sable  roof 

Of  boughs,  as  if  for  festal  purpose  decked 

With  unrejoicing  berries  —  ghostly  Shapes  25 

May  meet  at  noontide  ;   Fear  and  trembling  Hope, 

Silence  and  Foresight ;   Death  the  Skeleton 

And  Time  the  Shadow  ;  —  there  to  celebrate, 

As  in  a  natural  temple  scattered  o'er 

With  altars  undisturbed  of  mossy  stone,  3° 

United  worship  ;   or  in  mute  repose 


l68  AJ-    THE    GRAl'K    OF  BC/A'.VS. 

To  lie.  and  listen  to  the  mountain  flood 
Murmuring  from  Glaramara's  inmost  caves. 

1803. 


AT    THE    GRAVE    OF    BURNS.    1803. 

SEVEN    YEARS    AFTER    HIS    DEATH. 

I  SHIVER,   Spirit  fierce  and  bold, 

At  thought  of  what  I  now  behold  : 

As  vapours  breathed  from  dungeons  cold 

Strike  pleasure  dead, 
So  sadness  comes  from  out  the  mould  5 

Where  Burns  is  laid. 

And  have  I  then  thy  bones  so  near, 
And  thou  forbidden  to  appear  ? 
As  if  it  were  thyself  that 's  here 

I  shrink  with  pain  ;  10 

And  both  my  wishes  and  my  fear 

Alike  are  vain. 

Off  weight  —  nor  press  on  weight  !  —  away 

Dark  thoughts !  —  they  came,  but  not  to  stay  ; 

With  chastened  feelings  would  I  pay  15 

The  tribute  due 
To  him,  and  aught  that  hides  his  clay 

From  mortal  view. 

Fresh  as  the  Hower,  whose  modest  worth 

He  sang,  his  genius  "  glinted  "  forth,  20 

Rose  like  a  star  that  touching  earth, 

For  so  it  seems. 
Doth  glorify  its  humble  birth 

With  matchless  beams. 


AT    THE    GRAVE    OE  BC/A'A'S.  169 

The  piercing  eye,  the  thoughtful  brow,  25 

The  struggling  heart,  where  be  they  now  ?  — 
Full  soon  the  Aspirant  of  the  plough, 

The  prompt,  the  brave, 
Slept,  with  the  obscurest,  in  the  low 

And  silent  grave.  3° 

I  mourned  with  thousands,  but  as  one 
More  deeply  grieved,  for  He  was  gone 
Whose  light  I  hailed  when  first  it  shone, 

And  showed  my  youth 
How  Verse  may  build  a  princely  throne  35 

On  humble  truth. 

Alas  !  where'er  the  current  tends, 
Regret  pursues  and  with  it  blends,  — 
Huge  Criffel's  hoary  top  ascends 

By  Skiddaw  seen,  —  4° 

Neighbours  we  were,  and  loving  friends 

We  might  have  been  ; 

True  friends  though  diversely  inclined  : 

But  heart  with  heart  and  mind  with  mind, 

Where  the  main  fibres  are  entwined,  45 

Through  Nature's  skill. 
May  even  by  contraries  be  joined 

More  closely  still. 

The  tear  will  start,  and  let  it  flow ; 

Thou  "  poor  Inhabitant  below,"  50 

At  this  dread  moment  —  even  so  — 

Might  we  together 
Have  sate  and  talked  where  gowans  blow. 

Or  on  wild  heather. 


170 


AT   THE    GA'AFE    OF  JWKNS. 

What  treasures  would  have  then  been  placed  55 

Within  my  reach  ;  of  knowledge  graced 
By  fancy  what  a  rich  repast ! 

But  why  go  on  ?  — 
Oh  !  spare  to  sweep,  thou  mournful  blast, 

His  grave  grass-grown.  60 

There,  too,  a  Son,  his  joy  and  pride, 
(Not  three  weeks  past  the  Stripling  died,) 
Lies  gathered  to  his  Father's  side, 

Soul-moving  sight ! 
Yet  one  to  which  is  not  denied  65 

Some  sad  delight : 

For  he  is  safe,  a  quiet  bed 

Hath  early  found  among  the  dead. 

Harboured  where  none  can  be  misled, 

Wronged,  or  distrest  ;  7° 

And  surely  here  it  may  be  said 

That  such  are  blest. 

And  oh  for  Thee,  by  pitying  gTace 

Checked  oft-times  in  a  devious  race. 

May  He  who  halloweth  the  place  75 

Where  Man  is  laid 
Receive  thy  Spirit  in  the  embrace 

For  which  it  prayed  ! 

Sighing  I  turned  away  ;  but  ere 

Night  fell  I  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear,  80 

Music  that  sorrow  comes  not  near, 

A  ritual  hymn, 
Chaunted  in  love  that  casts  out  fear 

By  Seraphim.  1803. 


THOUGHTS.  I -J  I 


THOUGHTS 

SUGGESTED   THE    DAY    FOLLOWING,    ON    THE    HANKS   OF   NITH, 
NEAR    THE    POET'S    RESIDENCE. 

Too  frail  to  keep  the  lofty  vow 

That  must  have  followed  when  his  brow 

Was  wreathed  —  "  The  Vision  "  tells  us  how  — 

With  holly  spray, 
He  faltered,  drifted  to  and  fro,  5 

And  passed  away. 

Well  might  such  thoughts,  dear  Sister,  throng 
Our  minds  when,  lingering  all  too  long. 
Over  the  grave  of  Burns  we  hung 

In  social  grief —  lo 

Indulged  as  if  it  were  a  wrong 

To  seek  relief. 

But,  leaving  each  unquiet  theme 

Where  gentlest  judgments  may  misdeem. 

And  prompt  to  welcome  every  gleam  15 

Of  good  and  fair. 
Let  us  beside  this  limpid  Stream 

Breathe  hopeful  air. 

Enough  of  sorrow,  wreck,  and  blight ; 

Think  rather  of  those  moments  bright  20 

When  to  the  consciousness  of  right 

His  course  was  true. 
When  Wisdom  prospered  in  his  sight 

And  virtue  grew. 

Yes,  freely  let  our  hearts  expand,  25 

Freely  as  in  youth's  season  bland. 
When  side  by  side,  his  Book  in  hand. 


172 


THOUGHTS. 

We  wont  to  stray, 
Our  pleasure  varying  at  command 

Of  each  sweet  Lay.  3° 

How  oft  inspired  must  he  have  trod 
These  pathways,  yon  far-stretching  road  ! 
There  lurks  his  home  ;  in  that  Abode, 

With  mirth  elate, 
Or  in  his  nobly-pensive  mood,  35 

The  Rustic  sate. 

Proud  thoughts  that  Image  overawes, 

Before  it  humbly  let  us  pause, 

And  ask  of  Nature,  from  what  cause 

And  by  what  rules  4° 

She  trained  her  Burns  to  win  applause 

That  shames  the  Schools. 

Through  busiest  street  and  loneliest  glen 

Are  felt  the  flashes  of  his  pen  ; 

He  rules  'mid  winter  snows,  and  when  45 

Bees  fill  their  hives  ; 
Deep  in  the  general  heart  of  men 

His  power  survives. 

What  need  of  fields  in  some  far  clime 

Where  Heroes,  Sages,  Bards  sublime,  5° 

And  all  that  fetched  the  flowing  rhyme 

From  genuine  springs, 
Shall  dwell  together  till  old  Time 

Folds  up  his  wings  ? 

Sweet  Mercy  !  to  the  gates  of  Heaven  55 

This  Minstrel  lead,  his  sins  forgiven  ; 
The  rueful  conflict,  the  heart  riven 


rO    A    H/GHLANf^    GIRL. 


173 


With  vain  endeavour, 
And  memory  of  Earth's  bitter  leaven, 

Effaced  for  ever.  60 

But  why  to  Him  confine  tlie  prayer. 
When  kindred  thoughts  and  yearnings  bear 
On  the  frail  heart  the  purest  share 

With  all  that  live  ?  — 
The  best  of  what  we  do  and  are,  65 

Just  God,  forgive  ! 

TO    A    HIGHLAND    GIRL. 

AT    INVERSNEVDE,    UPON    LOCH    LOMOND. 

Sweet  Highland  Girl,  a  very  shower 

Of  beauty  is  thy  earthly  dower  ! 

Twice  seven  consenting  years  have  shed 

Their  utmost  bounty  on  thy  head : 

And  these  grey  rocks  ;  that  household  lawn  ;  5 

Those  trees,  a  veil  jiist  half  withdrawn  ; 

This  fall  of  water  that  doth  make 

A  murmur  near  the  silent  lake  ; 

This  little  bay  ;  a  quiet  road 

That  holds  in  shelter  thy  Abode  —  10 

In  truth  together  do  ye  seem 

Like  something  fashioned  in  a  dream  ; 

Such  Forms  as  from  their  covert  peep 

When  earthly  cares  are  laid  asleep  ! 

But,  O  fair  Creature  !  in  the  light  '5 

Of  common  day,  so  heavenly  bright, 

I  bless  Thee,  Vision  as  thou  art, 

I  bless  thee  with  a  human  heart  ; 


174 


TO   A    HIGHLAND    GIKL. 

God  shield  thee  to  thy  latest  years  ! 

Thee,  neither  know  I,  nor  thy  peers  ;  20 

And  yet  my  eyes  are  filled  with  tears. 

With  earnest  feeling  I  shall  pray 
For  thee  when  I  am  far  away  : 
For  never  saw  I  mien,  or  face. 
In  which  more  plainly  I  could  trace  25 

Benignity  and  home-bred  sense 
Ripening  in  perfect  innocence. 
Here  scattered,  like  a  random  seed, 
Remote  from  men.  Thou  dost  not  need 
The  embarrassed  look  of  shy  distress,  3° 

And  maidenly  shamefacedness  : 
Thou  wear'st  upon  thy  forehead  clear 
The  freedom  of  a  Mountaineer  : 
A  face  with  gladness  overspread  ! 
Soft  smiles,  by  human  kindness  bred  !  35 

And  seemliness  complete,  that  sways 
Thy  courtesies,  about  thee  plays  ; 
With  no  restraint,  but  such  as  springs 
From  quick  and  eager  visitings 
Of  thoughts  that  lie  beyond  the  reach  40 

Of  thy  few  words  of  English  speech  : 
A  bondage  sweetly  brooked,  a  strife 
That  gives  thy  gestures  grace  and  life ! 
So  have  I,  not  unmoved  in  mind. 
Seen  birds  of  tempest-loving  kind  —  45 

Thus  beating  up  against  the  wind. 

What  hand  but  would  a  garland  cull 
For  thee  who  art  so  beautiful  ? 
O  happy  pleasure  !  here  to  dwell 
Beside  thee  in  some  heathy  dell  ;  5° 

Adopt  your  homely  ways,  and  dress, 
A  Shepherd,  thou  a  Shepherdess  ! 


TO    A    HIGHLAND    GIRL.  175 

But  I  could  frame  a  wish  for  thee 

More  like  a  grave  reality  : 

Thou  art  to  me  but  as  a  wave  55 

Of  the  wild  sea ;  and  I  would  have 

Some  claim  upon  thee,  if  I  could, 

Though  but  of  common  neighbourhood. 

What  joy  to  hear  thee,  and  to  see  ! 

Thy  elder  Brother  I  would  be,  60 

Thy  Father  —  anything  to  thee  ! 

Now  thanks  to  Heaven  !  that  of  its  grace 

Hath  led  me  to  this  lonely  place. 

Joy  have  I  had  ;  and  going  hence 

I  bear  away  my  recompence.  65 

In  spots  like  these  it  is  we  prize 

Our  Memory,  feel  that  she  hath  eyes  : 

Then,  why  should  I  be  loth  to  stir  ? 

I  feel  this  place  was  made  for  her  ; 

To  give  new  pleasure  like  the  past,  7° 

Continued  long  as  life  shall  last. 

Nor  am  I  loth,  though  pleased  at  heart, 

Sweet  Highland  Girl  !   from  thee  to  part  : 

For  I,  methinks,  till  I  grow  old. 

As  fair  before  me  shall  behold,  75 

As  I  do  now,  the  cabin  small. 

The  lake,  the  bay,  the  waterfall  ; 

And  Thee,  the  Spirit  of  them  all  ! 

1803. 


176  GLEN  ALMAnV. 

GLEN    ALMAIN  ;    OK.    THE    NARROW    GLEN. 

In  this  still  place,  remote  from  men, 

Sleeps  Ossian,  in  the  narrow  glen  ; 

In  this  still  place,  where  murmurs  on 

But  one  meek  streamlet,  only  one  : 

He  sang  of  battles,  and  the  breath'  5 

Of  stormy  war,  and  violent  death  ; 

And  should,  methinks,  when  all  was  past. 

Have  rightfully  been  laid  at  last 

Where  rocks  were  rudely  heaped,  and  rent 

As  by  a  spirit  turbulent ;  10 

Where  sights  were  rough,  and  sounds  were  wild. 

And  everything  unreconciled; 

In  some  complaining,  dim  retreat. 

For  fear  and  melancholy  meet ; 

But  this  is  calm  ;  there  cannot  be  15 

A  more  entire  tranquillity. 

Does  then  the  Bard  sleep  here  indeed? 
Or  is  it  but  a  groundless  creed .-' 
What  matters  it  ?  —  I  blame  them  not 
Whose  Fancy  in  this  lonely  Spot  20 

Was  moved  ;  and  in  such  way  expressed 
Their  notion  of  its  perfect  rest. 
A  convent,  even  a  hermit's  cell, 
Would  break  the  silence  of  this  Dell  : 
It  is  not  quiet,  is  not  ease  ;  25 

But  something  deeper  far  than  these  : 
The  separation  that  is  here 
Is  of  the  grave  ;  and  of  austere 
Yet  happy  feelings  of  the  dead  ; 

And,  therefore,  was  it  rightly  said  30 

That  Ossian,  last  of  all  his  race  ! 
Lies  buried  in  this  lonely  place.  1803. 


STEPPING    WESTWARD.  177 


STEPPING    WESTWARD. 

While  my  Fellow-traveller  and  I  were  walking  by  the  side  of  Loch  Ket- 
terine,  one  fine  evening  after  sunset,  in  our  road  to  a  Hut  where,  in  the  course 
of  our  Tour,  we  had  been  hospitably  entertained  some  weeks  before,  we  met. 
in  one  of  the  loneliest  parts  of  that  solitary  region,  two  well-dressed  Women, 
one  of  whom  said  to  us,  by  w^ay  of  greeting,  "  \\'hat,  you  are  stepping  west- 
ward "i  " 

"  What,  you  are  stepping  westward ?  " — "  Yea.'' 

—  'T  would  be  a  wildish  destiny, 

If  we,  who  thus  together  roam 

In  a  strange  Land,  and  far  from  home. 

Were  in  this  place  the  guests  of  Chance:  5 

Yet  who  would  stop,  or  fear  to  advance, 

Though  home  or  shelter  he  had  none. 

With  such  a  sky  to  lead  him  on  ? 

The  dewy  ground  was  dark  and  cold  : 

Behind,  all  gloomy  to  behold  ;  10 

And  stepping  westward  seemed  to  be 

A  kind  of  heavenly  destiny  : 

I  liked  the  greeting  ;  't  was  a  sound 

Of  something  without  place  or  bound  ; 

And  seemed  to  give  me  spiritual  right  15 

To  travel  through  that  region  bright. 

The  voice  was  soft,  and  she  who  spake 

Was  walking  by  her  native  lake  : 

The  salutation  had  to  me 

The  very  sound  of  courtesy  :  20 

Its  power  was  felt  ;  and  while  my  eye 

Was  fixed  upon  the  glowing  Sky, 

The  echo  of  the  voice  enwrought 

A  human  sweetness  with  the  thought 

Of  travelling  through  the  world  that  lay  25 

Before  me  in  my  endless  way.  1803  (■^>- 


1^8  THE   SOLITARY  REAPER. 


THE    SOLITARY    REAPER. 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  field, 

Yon  solitary  Highland  Lass  ! 

Reaping  and  singing  by  herself  ; 

Stop  here,  or  gently  pass  ! 

Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain,  5 

And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 

0  listen  !  for  the  Vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 

No  Nightingale  did  ever  chaunt 

More  welcome  notes  to  weary  bands  lo 

Of  travellers  in  some  shady  haunt. 

Among  Arabian  sands  : 

A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard 

In  spring-time  from  the  Cuckoo-bird, 

Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas  15 

Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings?  — 

Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 

For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 

And  battles  long  ago  :  20 

Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 

Familiar  matter  of  to-day  ? 

Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 

That  has  been,  and  may  be  again  ? 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  Maiden  sang  25 

As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending ; 

1  saw  her  singing  at  her  work. 
And  o'er  the  sickle  bending  ;  — 


ADDRESS    TO    K'lLCHURN   CASTLE. 


179 


I  listened,  motionless  and  still ; 

And,  as  I  mounted  up  the  hill  30 

The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore, 

Long  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

1803  (?). 


ADDRESS  TO   KILCHURN  CASTLE,  UPON   LOCH  AWE. 

"  From  the  top  of  the  hill  a  most  impressive  scene  opened  upon  our  view, 
—  a  ruined  Castle  on  an  Island  (for  an  Island  the  flood  had  made  it)  at  some 
distance  from  the  shore,  backed  by  a  Cove  of  the  Mountain  Cruachan,  down 
which  came  a  foaming  stream.  The  Castle  occupied  every  foot  of  the  Island 
that  was  visible  to  us,  appearing  to  rise  out  of  the  water* —  mists  rested  upon 
the  mountain  side,  w^ith  spots  of  sunshine;  there  was  a  mild  desolation  in  the 
low  grounds,  a  solemn  grandeur  in  the  mountains,  and  the  Castle  was  wild, 
yet  stately  —  not  dismantled  of  turrets  —  nor  the  walls  broken  down,  though 
obviously  a  ruin."  —  Extract  from  the  Journal  of  my  Companion. 

Child  of  loud-throated  War !  the  mountain  Stream 

Roars  in  thy  hearing  ;  but  thy  hour  of  rest 

Is  come,  and  thou  art  silent  in  thy  age  ; 

Save  when  the  wind  sweeps  by  and  sounds  are  caught 

Ambiguous,  neither  wholly  thine  nor  theirs. 

Oh  !  there  is  life  that  breathes  not  ;   Powers  there  are 

That  touch  each  other  to  the  quick  in  modes 

Which  the  gross  world  no  sense  hath  to  perceive. 

No  soul  to  dream  of.     What  art  Thou,  from  care 

Cast  off —  abandoned  by  thy  rugged  Sire, 

Nor  by  soft  Peace  adopted ;  though,  in  place 

And  in  dimension,  such  that  thou  might'st  seem 

But  a  mere  footstool  to  yon  sovereign  Lord, 

Huge  Cruachan,  (a  thing  that  meaner  hills 

Might  crush,  nor  know  that  it  had  suffered  harm  ;) 

Yet  he,  not  loth,  in  favor  of  thy  claims 

To  reverence,  suspends  his  own  ;   submitting 


i8o  ADDRESS    TO   KILCHURN  CASTLE. 

All  that  the  God  of  Nature  hath  conferred, 

All  that  he  holds  in  common  with  the  stars, 

To  the  memorial  majesty  of  Time  20 

Impersonated  in  thy  calm  decay  ! 

Take  then  thy  seat,  Vicegerent  unreproved  ! 

Now,  while  a  farewell  gleam  of  evening  light 

Is  fondly  lingering  on  thy  shattered  front. 

Do  thou,  in  turn,  be  paramount ;  and  rule  25 

Over  the  pomp  and  beauty  of  a  scene 

Whose  mountains,  torrents,  lake,  and  woods,  unite 

To  pay  thee  homage  ;  and  with  these  are  joined. 

In  willing  admiration  and  respect, 

Two  Hearts,  which  in  thy  presence  might  be  called         3° 

Youthful  as  Spring.  —  Shade  of  departed  Power, 

Skeleton  of  unfleshed  humanity. 

The  chronicle  were  welcome  that  should  call 

Into  the  compass  of  distinct  regard 

The  toils  and  struggles  of  thy  infant  years  !  35 

Yon  foaming  flood  seems  motionless  as  ice ; 

Its  dizzy  turbulence  eludes  the  eye. 

Frozen  by  distance ;  so,  majestic  Pile, 

To  the  perception  of  this  Age,  appear 

Thy  fierce  beginnings,  softened  and  subdued  4° 

And  quieted  in  character — the  strife. 

The  pride,  the  fury  uncontrollable, 

Lost  on  the  aerial  heights  of  the  Crusades  !  ^ 

1S03  — ? 

1  The  tradition  is,  that  the  Castle  was  built  by  a  Lady  during  the 
absence  of  her  Lord  in  Palestine. 


VAKA'Ol'V   UNVISITED.  igi 


YARROW    UNVISITED. 


See  the  various  Poems  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  upon  the  banks  of  the 
Yarrow;  in  particular,  the  exquisite  Ballad  of  Hamilton  beginning 

"  Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  bouny,  bonny  Bride. 
Busk  ye,  busk  ye,  my  winsome  Marrow  I  —  '' 

From  Stirling  castle  we  had  seen 
The  mazy  Forth  unravelled  ; 
Had  trod  the  banks  of  Clyde,  and  Tay, 
And  with  the  Tweed  had  travelled  ; 
And  when  we  came  to  Clovenford, 
Then  said  my  ^'^  winsome  Marrow,'" 
"  Whate'er  betide,  we  '11  turn  aside. 
And  see  the  Braes  of  Yarrow." 

"  Let  Yarrow  io\\i,frae  Selkirk  town, 
Who  have  been  buying,  selling. 
Go  back  to  Yarrow,  't  is  their  own  : 
Each  maiden  to  her  dwelling  ! 
On  Yarrow's  banks  let  herons  feed, 
Hares  couch,  and  rabbits  burrow  ! 
But  we  will  downward  with  the  Tweed, 
Nor  turn  aside  to  Yarrow. 

"  There  's  Galla  Water,  Leader  Haughs, 
Both  lying  right  before  us  ; 
And  Dryborough,  where  with  chiming  Tweed 
The  lintwhites  sing  in  chorus  ; 
There  's  pleasant  Tiviot-dale,  a  land 
Made  blithe  with  plough  and  harrow  : 
Why  throw  away  a  needful  day 
To  go  in  search  of  Yarrow  ^ 


YAJ^ROIV   UNVJSITED. 

"  What 's  Yarrow  but  a  river  bare,  25 

That  glides  the  dark  hills  under  ? 

There  are  a  thousand  such  elsewhere 

As  worthy  of  your  wonder." 

—  Strange  words  they  seemed  of  slight  and  scorn 

My  True-love  sighed  for  sorrow  ;  3° 

And  looked  me  in  the  face,  to  think 

I  thus  could  speak  of  Yarrow  ! 

"  Oh  !  green,"  said  I,  "  are  Yarrow's  holms, 

And  sweet  is  Yarrow  flowing! 

Fair  hangs  the  apple  frae  the  rock,  35 

But  we  will  leave  it  growing. 

O'er  hilly  path,  and  open  Strath, 

We  '11  wander  Scotland  thorough  ; 

But,  though  so  near,  we  will  not  turn 

Into  the  dale  of  Yarrow.  40 

"  Let  beeves  and  home-bred  kine  partake 

The  sweets  of  Burn-mill  meadow  ; 

The  swan  on  still  St.  Mary's  Lake 

Float  double,  swan  and  shadow  ! 

We  will  not  see  them  ;  will  not  go,  ,  45 

To-day,  nor  yet  to-morrow, 

Enough  if  in  our  hearts  we  know 

There  's  such  a  place  as  Yarrow. 

"  Be  Yarrow  stream  unseen,  unknown  ! 

It  must,  or  we  shall  rue  it  :  5° 

We  have  a  vision  of  our  own  ; 

Ah  !  why  should  we  undo  it .'' 

The  treasured  dreams  of  times  long  past, 

We  '11  keep  them,  winsome  Marrow  ! 

For  when  we  "re  there,  although  't  is  fair, 

'T  will  be  another  Yarrow  !  55 


LINES   ON    THE   EXPECTED   INVASION.  183 

"  If  Care  with  freezing  years  should  come, 

And  wandering  seem  but  folly,  — 

Should  we  be  loth  to  stir  from  home, 

And  yet  be  melancholy  ; 

Should  life  be  dull,  and  spirits  low,  60 

'Twill  soothe  us  in. our  sorrow, 

That  earth  has  something  yet  to  show, 

The  bonny  holms  of  Yarrow  !  " 

1803. 


LINES    ON    THE    EXPECTED    INVASION,  1803. 

Come  ye  —  who,  if  (which  Heaven  avert  !)  the  Land 

Were  with  herself  at  strife,  would  take  your  stand, 

Like  gallant  Falkland,  by  the  Monarch's  side, 

And,  like  Montrose,  make  Loyalty  your  pride  — 

Come  ye  —  who,  not  less  zealous,  might  display  5 

Banners  at  enmity  with  regal  sway. 

And,  like  the  Pyms  and  Miltons  of  that  day. 

Think  that  a  State  would  live  in  sounder  health 

If  Kingship  bowed  its  head  to  Commonwealth  — 

Ye  too  —  whom  no  discreditable  fear  10 

Would  keep,  perhaps  with  many  a  fruitless  tear. 

Uncertain  what  to  choose  and  how  to  steer  — 

And  ye  —  who  might  mistake  for  sober  sense 

And  wise  reserve  the  plea  of  indolence  ■ — 

Come  ye  —  whate'er  your  creed  —  O  waken  all,  15 

Whate'er  your  temper,  at  your  Country's  call ; 

Resolving  (this  a  free-born  Nation  can) 

To  have  one  soul,  and  perish  to  a  man, 

Or  save  this  honoured  Land  from  every  Lord 

But  British  reason  and  the  British  sword.  20 


/ 

184        "SHE    WAS  A    PHAN'J'OM   OF  DELIGHT: 


"SHE    WAS    A    PHANTOM   OF    DELIGHT." 

She  was  a  Phantom  of  delight 

When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight  ; 

A  lovely  Apparition,  sent 

To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 

Her  eyes  as  stars  of  Twilight  fair  ;  5 

Like  Twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair  ; 

But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 

From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  Dawn  ; 

A  dancing  Shape,  an  Image  gay, 

To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  way-lay.  10 

I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 

A  Spirit,  yet  a  Woman  too  ! 

Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 

And  steps  of  virgin-liberty; 

A  countenance  in  which  did  meet  15 

Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 

A  Creature  not  too  bright  or  good 

For  human  nature's  daily  food  ; 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles. 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles.  20 

And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 

The  very  pulse  of  the  machine  ; 

A  Being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 

A  Traveller  between  life  and  death  ; 

The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will,  25 

Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill ;         ' 

A  perfect  Woman,  nobly  planned. 

To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command  ;. 

And  yet  a  Spirit  still,  and  bright 

With  something  of  angelic  light.  30 

1804. 


I   WANDERED    LONELY  AS   A    CLOUDr  ,85 


"I    WANDERED    LONELY    AS    A   CLOUD." 

I  WANDERED  lonely  as  a  cloud 

That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 

When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 

A  host,  of  golden  daffodils  ; 

Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees,  5 

Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze. 

Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 

And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way. 

They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 

Along  the  margin  of  a  bay :  10 

Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance. 

Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

The  waves  beside  them  danced  ;  but  they 

Out-did  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee  : 

A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay,  15 

In  such  a  jocund  company  : 

I  gazed  —  and  gazed  — ■  but  little  thought 

What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought : 

For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 

In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood,  20 

They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 

Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude  ; 

And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 

And  dances  with  the  daffodils. 

1804. 


l86  THE   AFFLICTION   OF  MARGARET 


THE    AFPXICTION    OF    MARGARET 


Where  art  thou,  my  beloved  Son, 
Where  art  thou,  worse  to  me  than  dead  ? 
Oh  find  me,  prosperous  or  undone  ! 
Or,  if  the  grave  be  now  thy  bed, 
Why  am  I  ignorant  of  the  same 
That  I  may  rest ;  and  neither  blame 
Nor  sorrow  may  attend  thy  name  ? 


Seven  years,  alas  !  to  have  received 
No  tidings  of  an  only  child  ; 
To  have  despaired,  have  hoped,  believed, 
And  been  for  evermore  beguiled  ; 
Sometimes  with  thoughts  of  very  bliss  ! 
I  catch  at  them,  and  then  I  miss ; 
Was  ever  darkness  like  to  this  ? 


He  was  among  the  prime  in  worth,  15 

An  object  beauteous  to  behold ; 

Well  born,  well  bred  ;  I  sent  him  forth 

Ingenuous,  innocent,  and  bold  : 

If  things  ensued  that  wanted  grace, 

As  hath  been  said,  they  were  not  base ;  20 

And  never  blush  was  on  my  face. 


Ah  !  little  doth  the  young  one  dream, 
When  full  of  play  and  childish  cares, 
What  power  is  in  his  wildest  scream, 


THE  AFFLICTION  OF  MARGARET .  187 

Heard  by  his  mother  unawares  !  25 

He  knows  it  not,  he  cannot  guess  : 
Years  to  a  mother  bring  distress  ; 
But  do  not  make  her  love  the  less. 


Neglect  me  !  no,  I  suffered  long 

From  that  ill  thought ;  and,  being  blind  _  3° 

Said,  "  Pride  shall  help  me  in  my  wrong  ; 

Kind  mother  have  I  been,  as  kind 

As  ever  breathed  : "  and  that  is  true  ; 

I  've  wet  my  path  with  tears  like  dew, 

Weeping  for  him  when  no  one  knew.  35 


My  Son,  if  thou  be  humbled,  poor, 

Hopeless  of  honour  and  of  gain, 

Oh  !  do  not  dread  thy  mother's  door  ; 

Think  not  of  me  with  grief  and  pain  : 

I  now  can  see  with  better  eyes ;  4° 

And  worldly  grandeur  I  despise, 

And  fortune  with  her  gifts  and  lies. 


Alas  !  the  fowls  of  heaven  have  wings. 

And  blasts  of  heaven  will  aid  their  flight ; 

They  mount  —  how  short  a  voyage  brings  45 

The  wanderers  back  to  their  delight ! 

Chains  tie  us  down  by  land  and  sea  ; 

And  wishes,  vain  as  mine,  may  be 

All  that  is  left  to  comfort  thee. 


THE   AFFLICTION   OF  MARGARET- 


Perhaps  some  dungeon  hears  thee  groan,  50 

Maimed,  mangled  by  inhuman  men  ; 

Or  thou  upon  a  desert  thrown 

Inheritest  the  lion's  den  ; 

Or  hast  been  summoned  to  the  deep, 

Thou,  thou  and  all  thy  mates,  to  keep  55 

An  incommunicable  sleep. 


I  look  for  ghosts  ;  but  none  will  force 

Their  way  to  me  :  't  is  falsely  said 

That  there  was  ever  intercourse 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead  ;  60 

For,  surely,  then,  I  should  have  sight 

Of  him  I  wait  for  day  and  night, 

With  love  and  longings  infinite. 


My  apprehensions  come  in  crowds  ; 

I  dread  the  rustling  of  the  grass  ;  65 

The  very  shadows  of  the  clouds 

Have  power  to  shake  me  as  they  pass  : 

I  question  things  and  do  not  find 

One  that  will  answer  to  my  mind  ; 

And  all  the  world  appears  unkind.  70 


Beyond  participation  lie 
My  troubles,  and  beyond  relief  : 
If  any  chance  to  heave  a  sigh. 
They  pity  me,  and  not  my  grief. 


ADDRE^iS    TO   MV   IN  FAN/'  J)AUGHTER.  189 

Then  come  to  me,  my  Son,  or  send  75 

Some  tidings  that  my  woes  may  end  ; 

I  have  no  other  earthly  friend  ! 

1804  (?). 


ADDRESS   TO    MY    INFANT    DAUGHTER,    DORA, 

ON     BEING    REMINDED    THAT    SHE    WAS    A    MONTH    OLD   THAT    DAY, 
SEPTEMBER   l6. 

—  Hast  thou  then  survived  — 
.    Mild  offspring  of  infirm  humanity, 
Meek  Infant  !  among  all  forlornest  things 
The  most  forlorn  —  one  life  of  that  bright  star, 
The  second  glory  of  the  Heavens  ?  —  Thou  hast,  5 

Already  hast  survived  that  great  decay. 
That  transformation  through  the  wide  earth  felt, 
And  by  all  nations.     In  that  Being's  sight 
From  whom  the  Race  of  human  kind  proceed, 
A  thousand  years  but  are  as  yesterday;  10 

And  one  day's  narrow  circuit  is  to  Him 
Not  less  capacious  than  a  thousand  years. 
But  what  is  time.''     What  outward  glory?  neither 
A  measure  is  of  Thee,  whose  claims  extend 
Through  "heaven's  eternal  year."  —  Yet  hail  to  Thee,    15 
Frail,  feeble  Monthling  !  —  by  that  name,  methinks. 
Thy  scanty  breathing-time  is  portioned  out 
Not  idly.  —  Hadst  thou  been  of  Indian  birth, 
Couched  on  a  casual  bed  of  moss  and  leaves, 
And  rudely  canopied  by  leafy  boughs,  20 

Or  to  the  churlish  elements  exposed 
On  the  blank  plains,  —  the  coldness  of  the  night. 
Or  the  night's  darkness,  or  its  cheerful  face 


190 


ADDRESS    TO  MY  INFANT  DAUGHTER. 


Of  beauty,  by  the  changing  moon  adorned, 

Would,  with  imperious  admonition,  then  25 

Have  scored  thine  age,  and  punctually  timed 

Thine  infant  history,  on  the  minds  of  those 

Who  might  have  wandered  with  thee.  —  Mother's  love, 

Nor  less  than  mother's  love  in  other  breasts. 

Will,  among  us  warm-clad  and  warmly  housed,  30 

Do  for  thee  what  the  finger  of  the  heavens 

Doth  all  too  often  harshly  execute 

For  thy  unblest  coevals,  amid  wilds 

Where  fancy  hath  small  liberty  to  grace 

The  affections,  to  exalt  them  or  refine  ;  35 

And  the  maternal  sympathy  itself. 

Though  strong,  is,  in  the  main,  a  joyless  tie 

Of  naked  instinct,  wound  about  the  heart. 

Happier,  far  happier,  is  thy  lot  and  ours  ! 

Even  now  —  to  solemnise  thy  helpless  state,  40 

And  to  enliven  in  the  mind's  regard 

Thy  passive  beauty  —  parallels  have  risen, 

Resemblances,  or  contrasts,  that  connect, 

Within  the  region  of  a  father's  thoughts, 

Thee  and  thy  mate  and  sister  of  the  sky.  45 

And  first ;  —  thy  sinless  progress,  through  a  world 

By  sorrow  darkened  and  by  care  disturbed. 

Apt  likeness  bears  to  hers,  through  gathered  clouds. 

Moving  untouched  in  silver  purity. 

And  cheering  oft-times  their  reluctant  gloom.  50 

Fair  are  ye  both,  and  both  are  free  from  stain  : 

But  thou,  how  leisurely  thou  fiU'st  thy  horn 

With  brightness  !  leaving  her  to  post  along, 

And  range  about,  disquieted  in  change. 

And  still  impatient  of  the  shape  she  wears.  55 

Once  up,  once  down  the  hill,  one  journey.  Babe, 

That  will  suffice  thee  ;  and  it  seems  that  now 


THE   SMALL    CELANDLNE.  igj 

Thou  hast  fore-knowledge  that  such  task  is  thine  ; 

Thou  travellest  so  contentedly,  and  sleep'st 

In  such  a  heedless  peace.     Alas  !  full  soon  60 

Hath  this  conception,  grateful  to  behold. 

Changed  countenance,  like  an  object  sullied  o'er 

By  breathing  mist  ;  and  thine  appears  to  be 

A  mournful  labour,  while  to  her  is  given 

Hope,  and  a  renovation  without  end.  65 

—  That  smile  forbids  the  thought ;  for  on  thy  face 

Smiles  are  beginning,  like  the  beams  of  dawn, 

To  shoot  and  circulate  ;   smiles  have  there  been  seen. 

Tranquil  assurances  that  Heaven  supports 

The  feeble  motions  of  thy  life,  and  cheers  7° 

Thy  loneliness:  or  shall  those  smiles  be  called 

Feelers  of  love,  put  forth  as  if  to  explore 

This  untried  world,  and  to  prepare  thy  way 

Through  a  strait  passage  intricate  and  dim  ? 

Such  are  they  ;   and  the  same  are  tokens,  signs,  75 

Which,  when  the  appointed  season  hath  arrived, 

Joy,  as  her  holiest  language,  shall  adopt  ; 

And  Reason's  godlike  Power  be  proud  to  own. 

1804. 


THE    SMALL   CELAXDIXE. 

There  is  a  Flower,  the  lesser  Celandine. 
That  shrinks,  like  many  more,  from  cold  and  rain  ; 
And,  the  first  moment  that  the  sun  may  shine. 
Bright  as  the  sun  himself,  't  is  out  again ! 

When  hailstones  have  been  falling,  swarm  on  swarm. 
Or  blasts  the  green  field  and  the  trees  distrest. 
Oft  have  I  seen  it  muffled  up  from  harm. 
In  close  self-shelter,  like  a  Thing:  at  rest. 


ig2 


MORNING   AMONG    THE   MOUNTAINS. 


But  lately,  one  rough  day,  this  Flower  I  passed 

And  recognised  it,  though  an  altered  form,  lo 

Now  standing  forth  an  offering  to  the  blast, 

And  buffeted  at  will  by  rain  and  storm. 

I  stopped,  and  said  with  inly-muttered  voice, 

"  It  doth  not  love  the  shower,  nor  seek  the  cold : 

This  neither  is  its  courage  nor  its  choice,  1 5 

But  its  necessity  in  being  old. 

"The  sunshine  may  not  cheer  it,  nor  the  dew  ; 

It  cannot  help  itself  in  its  decay ; 

Stiff  in  its  members,  withered,  changed  of  hue." 

And,  in  my  spleen,  I  smiled  that  it  was  grey.  20. 

To  be  a  Prodigal's  Favourite  —  then,  worse  truth, 
A  Miser's  Pensioner  —  behold  our  lot ! 
O  Man,  that  from  thy  fair  and  shining  youth 
Age  might  but  take  the  things  Youth  needed  not  ! 

1804. 


MORNING  AMONG  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

(FROM    ■'  THE    PRELUDE,"    BOOK    IV.) 

Yes,  that  heartless  chase 
Of  trivial  pleasures  was  a  poor  exchange 
For  books  and  nature  at  that  early  age. 
'T  is  true,  some  casual  knowledge  might  be  gained 
Of  character  or  life  ;  but  at  that  time,  5 

Of  manners  put  to  school  I  took  small  note, 
And  all  my  deeper  passions  lay  elsewhere. 
Far  better  had  it  been  to  exalt  the  mind 
By  solitary  study,  to  uphold 


MORXING   AMOXG    THE   MOUNTAINS. 


193 


Intense  desire  through  meditative  peace  ;  10 

And  yet,  for  chastisement  of  these  regrets, 

The  memory  of  one  particular  hour 

Doth  here  rise  up  against  me.     'Mid  a  throng 

Of  maids  and  youths,  old  men,  and  matrons  staid, 

A  medley  of  all  tempers,  I  had  passed  '  5 

The  night  in  dancing,  gaiety,  and  mirth, 

With  din  of  instruments  and  shuffling  feet, 

And  glancing  forms,  and  tapers  glittering, 

And  unaimed  prattle  flying  up  and  down ; 

Spirits  upon  the  stretch,  and  here  and  there  20 

Slight  shocks  of  young  love-liking  interspersed. 

Whose  transient  pleasure  mounted  to  the  head, 

And  tingled  through  the  veins.     Ere  we  retired. 

The  cock  had  crowed,  and  now  the  eastern  sky 

Was  kindling,  not  unseen,  from  humble  copse  -5 

And  open  field,  through  which  the  pathway  wound, 

And  homeward  led  my  steps.     Magnificent 

The  morning  rose,  in  memorable  pomp. 

Glorious  as  e'er  I  had  beheld  —  in  front. 

The  sea  lay  laughing  at  a  distance  ;  near,  3° 

The  solid  mountains  shone,  bright  as  the  clouds. 

Grain-tinctured,  drenched  in  empyrean  light ; 

And  in  the  meadows  and  the  lower  grounds 

Was  all  the  sweetness  of  a  common  dawn  — 

Dews,  vapours,  and  the  melody  of  birds,  35 

And  labourers  going  forth  to  till  the  fields. 

Ah  1   need  I  say,  dear  Friend  !  that  to  the  brim 

Aly  heart  was  full ;  I  made  no  vows,  but  vows 

Were  then  made  for  me  ;  bond  unknown  to  me 

Was  given  that  I  should  be,  else  sinning  greatly,  4° 

A  dedicated  Spirit.     On  I  walked 

In  thankful  blessedness,  which  yet  survives. 

1804. 


ig4  THE  ASCENT  OF  SNOWDON. 

THE   ASCENT   OF    SNOWDON. 

(from    "the    prelude,"    book   XIV.) 

In  one  of  those  excursions  (may  they  ne'er 
Fade  from  remembrance  ! )  through  the  Northern  tracts 
Of  Cambria  ranging  with  a  youthful  friend, 
I  left  Bethgelert's  huts  at  couching-time, 
And  westward  took  my  way,  to  see  the  sun  5 

Rise,  from  the  top  of  Snowdon.     To  the  door 
Of  a  rude  cottage  at  the  mountain's  base 
We  came,  and  roused  the  shepherd  who  attends 
The  adventurous  stranger's  steps,  a  trusty  guide ; 
Then,  cheered  by  short  refreshment,  sallied  forth.  lo 

It  was  a  close,  warm,  breezeless  summer  night. 
Wan,  dull,  and  glaring,  with  a  dripping  fog 
Low-hung  and  thick  that  covered  all  the  sky  ;   . 
But,  undiscouraged,  we  began  to  climb 

The  mountain-side.     The  mist  soon  girt  us  round,  15 

And,  after  ordinary  travellers'  talk 
With  our  conductor,  pensively  we  sank 
Each  into  commerce  with  his  private  thoughts  : 
Thus  did  we  breast  the  ascent,  and  by  myself 
Was  nothing  either  seen  or  heard  that  checked  20 

Those  musings  or  diverted,  save  that  once 
The  shepherd's  lurcher,  who,  among  the  crags, 
Had  to  his  joy  unearthed  a  hedgehog,  teased 
His  coiled-up  prey  with  barkings  turbulent. 
This  small  adventure,  for  even  such  it  seemed  25 

In  that  wild  place  and  at  the  dead  of  night. 
Being  over  and  forgotten,  on  we  wound 
In  silence  as  before.     With  forehead  bent 
Earthward,  as  if  in  opposition  set 


THE  ASCENT  OF  SNOIVDON.  195 

Against  an  enemy,  I  panted  up  30 

With  eager  pace,  and  no  less  eager  thoughts. 

Thus  might  we  wear  a  midnight  hour  away. 

Ascending  at  loose  distance  each  from  each, 

And  I,  as  chanced,  the  foremost  of  the  band  ; 

When  at  my  feet  the  ground  appeared  to  brighten,  35 

And  with  a  step  or  two  seemed  brighter  still  ; 

Nor  was  time  given  to  ask  or  learn  the  cause, 

For  instantly  a  light  upon  the  turf 

Fell  like  a  flash,  and  lo !  as  I  looked  up. 

The  Moon  hung  naked  in  a  firmament  4° 

Of  azure  without  cloud,  and  at  my  feet 

Rested  a  silent  sea  of  hoary  mist. 

A  hundred  hills  their  dusky  backs  upheaved 

All  over  this  still  ocean  ;  and  beyond. 

Far,  far  beyond,  the  solid  vapours  stretched,  45 

In  headlands,  tongues,  and  promontory  shapes, 

Into  the  main  Atlantic,  that  appeared 

To  dwindle,  and  give  up  his  majesty,        ^ 

Usurped  upon  far  as  the  sight  could  reach. 

Not  so  the  ethereal  vault ;  encroachment  none  5° 

Was  there,  nor  loss  ;  only  the  inferior  stars 

Had  disappeared,  or  shed  a  fainter  light 

In  the  clear  presence  of  the  full-orbed  Moon, 

Who,  from  her  sovereign  elevation,  gazed 

Upon  the  billowy  ocean,  as  it  lay  55 

All  meek  and  silent,  save  that  through  a  rift  — 

Not  distant  from  the  shore  whereon  we  stood, 

A  fixed,  abysmal,  gloomy,  breathing-place  — 

Mounted  the  roar  of  waters,  torrents,  streams 

Innumerable,  roaring  with  one  voice  !  60 

Heard  over  earth  and  sea,  and,  in  that  hour. 

For  so  it  seemed,  felt  by  the  starry  heavens. 


196  THE  ASCENT  OF  SNOWDON. 

When  into  air  had  partially  dissolved 
That  vision,  given  to  spirits  of  the  night 
And  three  chance  human  wanderers,  in  calm  thought  65 

Reflected,  it  appeared  to  me  the  type 
Of  a  majestic  intellect,  its  acts 
And  its  possessions,  what  it  has  and  craves. 
What  in  itself  it  is,  and  would  become. 

There  I  beheld  the  emblem  of  a  mind  70 

That  feeds  upon  infinity,  that  broods 
Over  the  dark  abyss,  intent  to  hear 
Its  voices  issuing  forth  to  silent  light 
In  one  continuous  stream ;  a  mind  sustained 
By  recognitions  of  transcendent  power,  75 

In  sense  conducting  to  ideal  form, 
In  soul  of  more  than  mortal  privilege. 
One  function,  above  all,  of  such  a  mind 
Had  Nature  shadowed  there,  by  putting  forth, 
'Mid  circumstances  awful  and  sublime,  80 

That  mutual  domination  which  she  loves 
To  exert  upon  the  face  of  outward  things. 
So  moulded,  joined,  abstracted,  so  endowed 
With  interchangeable  supremacy, 

That  men,  least  sensitive,  see,  hear,  perceive,  85 

And  cannot  choose  but  feel.     The  power,  which  all 
Acknowledge  when  thus  moved,  which  Nature  thus 
To  bodily  sense  exhibits,  is  the  express 
Resemblance  of  that  glorious  faculty 

That  higher  minds  bear  with  them  as  their  own.  9° 

This  is  the  very  spirit  in  which  they  deal 
With  the  whole  compass  of  the  universe  : 
They  from  their  native  selves  can  send  abroad 
Kindred  mutations  ;    for  themselves  create 
A  like  existence  ;    and,  whene'er  it  dawns  95 

Created  for  them,  catch  it.  or  are  caught 


THE  ASCENT  OF  SNOIVDON.  197 

By  its  inevitable  mastery, 

Like  angels  stopped  upon  the  wing  by  sound 

Of  harmony  from  Heaven's  remotest  spheres. 

Them  the  enduring  and  the  transient  both  100 

Serve  to  exhalt ;  they  build  up  greatest  things 

From  least  suggestions  ;  ever  on  the  watch, 

Willing  to  work  and  to  be  wrought  upon. 

They  need  not  extraordinary  calls 

To  rouse  them  ;  in  a  world  of  life  they  live,  105 

By  sensible  impressions  not  enthralled, 

But  by  their  quickening  impulse  made  more  prompt 

To  hold  fit  converse  with  the  spiritual  world, 

And  with  the  generations  of  mankind 

Spread  over  time,  past,  present,  and  to  come,  "o 

Age  after  age,  till  Time  shall  be  no  more. 

Such  minds  are  truly  from  the  Deity, 

For  they  are  Powers  ;  and  hence  the  highest  bliss 

That  flesh  can  know  is  theirs  —  the  consciousness 

Of  Whom  they  are,  habitually  infused  115 

Through  every  image  and  through  every  thought, 

And  all  affections  by  communion  raised 

From  earth  to  heaven,  from  human  to  divine; 

Hence  endless  occupation  for  the  Soul, 

Whether  discursive  or  intuitive  ;  120 

Hence  cheerfulness  for  acts  of  daily  life, 

Emotions  which  best  foresight  need  not  fear. 

Most  worthy  then  of  trust  when  most  intense. 

Hence,  amid  ills  that  vex  and  wrongs  that  crush 

Our  hearts  —  if  here  the  words  of  Holy  Writ  125 

May  with  fit  reverence  be  applied  —  that  peace 

Which  passeth  understanding,  that  repose 

In  moral  judgments  which  from  this  pure  source 

Must  come,  or  will  by  man  be  sought  in  vain. 


198 


MIST  OPENING   IN   THE   HILLS. 


THE   SIMPLON    PASS. 

—  Brook  and  road 
Were  fellow-travellers  in  this  gloomy  Pass, 
And  with  them  did  we  journey  several  hours 
At  a  slow  step.     The  immeasurable  height 
Of  woods  decaying,  never  to  be  decayed,  5 

The  stationary  blasts  of  waterfalls, 
And  in  the  narrow  rent,  at  every  turn, 
Winds  thwarting  winds  bewildered  and  forlorn. 
The  torrents  shooting  from  the  clear  blue  sky. 
The  rocks  that  muttered  close  upon  our  ears,  10 

Black,  drizzling  crags  that  spake  by  the  wayside 
As  if  a  voice  were  in  them,  the  sick  sight 
And  giddy  prospect  of  the  raving  stream, 
The  unfettered  clouds  and  region  of  the  heavens. 
Tumult  and  peace,  the  darkness  and  the  light —         '5 
Were  all  like  workings  of  one  mind,  the  features 
Of  the  same  face,  blossoms  upon  one  tree. 
Characters  of  the  great  Apocalypse, 
The  types  and  symbols  of  Eternity, 
Of  first,  and  last,  and  midst,  and  without  end.  20 

1804. 


MIST  OPENING  IN  THE  HILLS. 

(from    "the    excursion,"    book    II.) 

So  was  he  lifted  gently  from  the  ground. 
And  with  their  freight  homeward  the  shepherds  moved 
Through  the  dull  mist,  I  following  —  when  a  step, 
A  single  step,  that  freed  me  from  the  skirts 
Of  the  blind  vapour,  opened  to  my  view  5 


MIST  OPENING   IN   THE    HILLS. 


199 


Glory  beyond  all  gJory  ever  seen 

By  waking  sense  or  by  the  dreaming  soul  ! 

The  appearance,  instantaneously  disclosed, 

Was  of  a  mighty  city  —  boldly  say 

A  wilderness  of  building,  sinking  far  10 

And  self-withdrawn  into  a  boundless  depth, 

Far  sinking  into  splendour  —  without  end  ! 

Fabric  it  seemed  of  diamond  and  of  gold. 

With  alabaster  domes,  and  silver  spires. 

And  blazing  terrace  upon  terrace,  high  15 

Uplifted  ;  here,  serene  pavilions  bright, 

In  avenues  disposed ;  there,  towers  begirt 

With  battlements  that  on  their  restless  fronts 

Bore  stars  —  illumination  of  all  gems  ! 

By  earthly  nature  had  the  effect  been  wrought  20 

Upon  the  dark  materials  of  the  storm 

Now  pacified ;  on  them,  and  on  the  coves 

And  mountain-steeps  and  summits,  whereunto 

The  vapours  had  receded,  taking  there 

Their  station  under  a  cerulean  sky.  25 

Oh,  't  was  an  unimaginable  sight ! 

Clouds,  mists,  streams,  watery  rocks  and  emerald  turf. 

Clouds  of  all  tincture,  rocks  and  sapphire  sky, 

Confused,  commingled,  mutually  inflamed, 

Molten  together,  and  composing  thus,  30 

Each  lost  'in  each,  that  marvellous  array 

Of  temple,  palace,  citadel,  and  huge 

Fantastic  pomp  of  structure  without  name. 

In  fleecy  folds,  voluminous,  enwrapped. 

Right  in  the  midst,  where  interspace  appeared  35 

Of  open  court,  an  object  like  a  throne 

Under  a  shining  canopy  of  state 

Stood  fixed  ;   and  fixed  resemblances  were  seen 

To  implements  of  ordinary  use, 


DO  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

But  vast  in  size,  in  substance  glorified  ;  40 

Such  as  by  Hebrew  Prophets  were  beheld 

In  vision — forms  uncouth  of  mightiest  power 

For  admiration  and  mysterious  awe. 

This  little  Vale,  a  dwelling-place  of  Man, 

Lay  low  beneath  my  feet ;  't  was  visible  —  45 

I  saw  not,  but  I  felt  that  it  was  there. 

That  which  I  saw  was  the  revealed  abode 

Of  Spirits  in  beatitude  :  my  heart 

Swelled  in  my  breast  —  "I  have  been  dead,"  I  cried, 

"  And  now  I  live !     Oh  !  wherefore  do  I  live  ?  "  50 

And  with  that  pang  I  prayed  to  be  no  more  !  — 

—  But  I  forget  our  Charge,  as  utterly 

I  then  forgot  him  :  —  there  I  stood  and  gazed  : 

The  apparition  faded  not  away. 

And  I  descended.  55 


FRENCH    REVOLUTION, 

as  it  appe.\red  to  enthusiasts  at  its  commencement, 
(reprinted  from  "the  friend.") 

Oh  !  pleasant  exercise  of  hope  and  joy  ! 

For  mighty  were  the  auxiliars  which  then  stood 

Upon  our  side,  we  who  were  strong  in  love  ! 

Bliss  was  it  in  that  dawn  to  be  alive, 

But  to  be  young  was  very  heaven  !  —  Oh  !  times. 

In  which  the  meagre,  stale,  forbidding  ways 

Of  custom,  law,  and  statute,  took  at  once 

The  attraction  of  a  country  in  romance  ! 

When  Reason  seemed  the  most  to  assert  her  rights, 

When  most  intent  on  making  of  herself 


FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  20 1 

A  prime  Enchantress  —  to  assist  the  work, 
Which  then  was  going  forward  in  her  name ! 
Not  favoured  spots  alone,  but  the  whole  earth, 
The  beauty  wore  of  promise,  that  which  sets 
(As  at  some  moment  might  not  be  unfelt  15 

Among  the  bowers  of  paradise  itself) 
The  budding  rose  above  the  rose  full  blown. 
What  temper  at  the  prospect  did  not  wake 
To  happiness  unthought  of?     The  inert 
Were  roused,  and  lively  natures  rapt  away !  20 

They  who  had  fed  their  childhood  upon  dreams, 
The  playfellows  of  fancy,  who  had  made 
All  powers  of  swiftness,  subtilty,  and  strength 
Their  ministers,  —  who  in  lordly  wise  had  stirred 
Among  the  grandest  objects  of  the  sense,  25 

And  dealt  with  whatsoever  they  found  there 
As  if  they  had  within  some  lurking  right 
To  wield  it ;  —  they,  too,  who,  of  gentle  mood. 
Had  watched  all  gentle  motions,  and  to  these 
Had  fitted  their  own  thoughts,  schemers  more  mild,         3° 
And  in  the  region  of  their  peaceful  selves ;  — 
Now  was  it  that  both  found,  the  meek  and  lofty 
Did  both  find,  helpers  to  their  heart's  desire, 
And  stufif  at  hand,  plastic  as  they  could  wish ; 
Were  called  upon  to  exercise  their  skill,  35 

Not  in  Utopia,  subterranean  fields. 
Or  some  secreted  island,  Heaven  knows  where  ! 
But  in  the  very  world,  which  is  the  world 
Of  all  of  us,  —  the  place  where  in  the  end 
We  find  our  happiness,  or  not  at  all !  40 

1S04. 


202  ODE    TO   DUTY. 


ODE    TO    DUTY. 


'  Jam  non  consilio  bonus,  sed  more  e6  perductus,  ut  non  tantutn  rect^ 
facere  possim,  sed  nisi  rect^  facere  non  possim." 

Stern  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of  God ! 

O  Duty !  if  that  name  thou  love 

Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 

To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove  ; 

Thou,  who  art  victory  and  law  5 

When  empty  terrors  overawe  ; 

From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free  ; 

And  calm'st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity  ! 

There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them  ;  who,  in  love  and  truth,  lo 

Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth  : 
Glad  Hearts  !  without  reproach  or  blot 
Who  do  thy  work,  and  know  it  not  : 
Oh  !  if  through  confidence  misplaced  '  5 

They  fail,  thy  saving  arms,  dread  Power  !  around 
them  cast. 

Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright. 

And  happy  will  our  nature  be. 

When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 

And  joy  its  own  security.  20 

And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold 

Even  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold. 

Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed ; 

Yet  seek  thy  firm  support,  according  to  their  need. 

I,  loving  freedom,  and  untried  ;  25 

No  sport  of  every  random  gust, 


ODE    TO   DUTY. 


203 


Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide, 

Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust  : 

And  oft,  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 

Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferred  3° 

The  task,  in  smoother  walks  to  stray  ; 

But  thee  I  now  would  serve  more  strictly,  if  I  may. 

•  Through  no  disturbance  of  my  soul, 

Or  strong  compunction  in  me  wrought, 
I  supplicate  for  thy  control  ;  35 

But  in  the  quietness  of  thought  : 
Me  this  unchartered  freedom  tires  ; 
^  I  feel  the  weight  of  chance-desires  : 

My  hopes  no  more  must  change  their  name, 

I  long  for  a  repose  that  ever  is  the  same.  4° 

^^j^         ^'^^^Stern  Lawgiver  !  yet  thou  dost  wear 

The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace  ; 
Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair  ;  - 

As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face  :  S  ^ 

Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  beds  ^  45 

^:',  V    ,  And  fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads  ;  % 

-rX  -^  Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong  ;  - 

And  the  most  ancient  heavens,  through  Thee,  are    m 
^  fresh  and  strong. 


To  humbler  functions,  awful  Power  ! 
I  call  thee  :   I  myself  commend        ■  5° 

Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour ; 
Oh,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end  ! 
Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 
The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  ; 

The  confidence  of  reason  give  ;  55 

And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  Bondman  let  me  live  ! 

1805. 


264 


TO  A    SKY- LARK. 


TO   A    SKY-LARK. 


Up  with  me  !  up  with  me  into  the  clouds  ! 

For  thy  song,  Lark,  is  strong  ; 
Up  with  me,  up  with  me  into  the  clouds  ! 

Singing,  singing, 
With  clouds  and  sky  about  thee  ringing,  5 

Lift  me,  guide  me  till  I  find 
That  spot  which  seems  so  to  thy  mind  ! 

I  have  walked  through  wildernesses  dreary, 

And  to-day  my  heart  is  weary  ; 

Had  I  now  the  wings  of  a  Faery,  10 

Up  to  thee  would  I  fly. 

There  is  madness  about  thee,  and  joy  divine 

In  that  song  of  thine  ; 

Lift  me,  guide  me,  high  and  high. 

To  thy  banqueting-place  in  the  sky.  15 

Joyous  as  morning, 
Thou  art  laughing  and  scorning  ; 
Thou  hast  a  nest  for  thy  love  and  thy  rest. 
And,  though  little  troubled  with  sloth, 
Drunken  Lark  !  thou  would'st  be  loth  20 

To  be  such  a  traveller  as  L 
Happy,  happy  Liver, 

With  a  soul  as  strong  as  a  mountain  river 
Pouring  out  praise  to  the  Almighty  Giver, 

Joy  and  jollity  be  with  us  both  !  25 

Alas  !  my  journey,  rugged  and  uneven, 
Through  prickly  moors  or  dusty  ways  must  wind  ; 
But  hearing  thee,  or  others  of  thy  kind, 
As  full  of  gladness  and  as  free  of  heaven, 


FIDELITY.  205 

I,  with  my  fate  contented,  will  plod  on,  3° 

And  hope  for  higher  raptures,  when  life's  day  is 

done. 

1805. 


FIDELITY. 


A  BARKING  sound  the  Shepherd  hears, 

A  cry  as  of  a  dog  or  fox  ; 

He  halts  —  and  searches  with  his  eyes 

Among  the  scattered  rocks  : 

And  now  at  distance  can  discern  5 

A  stirring  in  a  brake  of  fern  ; 

And  instantly  a  dog  is  seen. 

Glancing  through  that  covert  green. 

The  Dog  is  not  of  mountain  breed  ; 

Its  motions,  too,  are  wild  and  shy  ;  10 

With  something,  as  the  Shepherd  thinks, 

Unusual  in  its  cry  : 

Nor  is  there  any  one  in  sight 

All  round,  in  hollow  or  on  height ; 

Nor  shout,  nor  whistle  strikes  his  ear  ;  15 

What  is  the  creature  doing  here  ? 

It  was  a  cove,  a  huge  recess, 

That  keeps,  till  June,  December's  snow  ; 

A  lofty  precipice  in  front, 

A  silent  tarn  ^  below  !  20 

Far  in  the  bosom  of  Helvellyn, 

Remote  from  public  road  or  dwelling, 

Pathway,  or  cultivated  land  ; 

From  trace  of  human  foot  or  hand. 

1  Tarn  is  a  s7naU  Mere,  or  Lake,  mostly  high  up  in  the  mountains. 


2o6  FIDELITY. 

There  sometimes  doth  a  leaping  fish  25 

Send  through  the  tarn  a  lonely  cheer  ; 

The  crags  repeat  the  raven's  croak, 

In  symphony  austere  ; 

Thither  the  rainbow  comes  —  the  cloud  — 

And  mists  that  spread  the  flying  shroud  ;  30 

And  sunbeams  ;  and  the  sounding  blast, 

That,  if  it  could,  would  hurry  past  ; 

But  that  enormous  barrier  holds  it  fast. 

Not  free  from  boding  thoughts,  a  while 

The  Shepherd  stood  ;  then  makes  his  way  35 

O'er  rocks  and  stones,  following  the  Dog 

As  quickly  as  he  may  ; 

Nor  far  had  gone  before  he  found 

A  human  skeleton  on  the  ground  ; 

The  appalled  Discoverer  with  a  sigh  4° 

Looks  round,  to  learn  the  history". 

From  those  abrupt  and  perilous  rocks 

The  Man  had  fallen,  that  place  of  fear  ! 

At  length  upon  the  Shepherd's  mind 

It  breaks,  and  all  is  clear  :  45 

He  instantly  recalled  the  name. 

And  who  he  was,  and  whence  he  came  ; 

Remembered,  too,  the  very  day 

On  which  the  Traveller  passed  this  way. 

But  hear  a  wonder,  for  whose  sake  5° 

This  lamentable  tale  I  tell  ! 

A  lasting  monument  of  words 

This  wonder  merits  well. 

The  Dog,  which  still  was  hovering  nigh, 

Repeating  the  same  timid  cry,  55 

This  Dog,  had  been  through  three  months'  space 

A  dweller  in  that  savage  place. 


ELEGIAC  STANZAS. 


207 


Yes,  proof  was  plain  that,  since  tlie  day 

When  this  ill-fated  Traveller  died. 

The  Dog  had  watched  about  the  spot,  60 

Or  by  his  master's  side  : 

How  nourished  here  through  such  long  time 

He  knows,  who  gave  that  love  sublime  ; 

And  gave  that  strength  of  feeling,  great 

Above  all  human  estimate  !  65 

1805. 


ELEGIAC    STANZAS. 

SUGGESTED    BY    A    PICTURE    OF    PEELE    CASTLE,    IN    A    STURM, 
PAINTED    BY    SIR    GEORGE    BEAUMONT. 

I  WAS  thy  neighbour  once,  thou  rugged  Pile  ! 
Four  summer  weeks  I  dwelt  in  sight  of  thee  : 
I  saw  thee  every  day  ;  and  all  the  while 
Thy  Form  was  sleeping  on  a  glassy  sea. 

So  pure  the  sky,  so  quiet  was  the  air  !  5 

So  like,  so  very  like,  was  day  to  day  ! 
Whene'er  I  looked,  thy  Image  still  was  there  ; 
It  trembled,  but  it  never  passed  away. 

How  perfect  was  the  calm  !  it  seemed  no  sleep  ; 

No  mood,  which  season  takes  away,  or  brings  :  10 

I  could  have  fancied  that  the  mighty  Deep 

Was  even  the  gentlest  of  all  gentle  Things. 

Ah  !  THEN,  if  mine  had  been  the  Painter's  hand, 
To  express  what  then  I  saw  ;  and  add  the  gleam, 
The  light  that  never  was,  on  sea  or  land,  15 

The  (Consecration,  and  the  Poet's  dream  ; 


2o8  ELEGIAC  STANZAS. 

I  would  have  planted  thee,  thou  hoary  Pile 

Amid  a  world  how  different  from  this  ! 

Beside  a  sea  that  could  not  cease  to  smile  ; 

On  tranquil  land,  beneath  a  sky  of  bliss.  20 

Thou  shouldst  have  seemed  a  treasure-house  divine 
Of  peaceful  years  ;  a  chronicle  of  heaven  ;  — 
Of  all  the  sunbeams  that  did  ever  shine 
The  very  sweetest  had  to  thee  been  given. 

A  Picture  had  it  been  of  lasting  ease,  25 

Elysian  quiet,  without  toil  or  strife  ; 

No  motion  but  the  moving  tide,  a  breeze. 

Or  merely  silent  Nature's  breathing  life. 

Such,  in  the  fond  illusion  of  my  heart. 

Such  Picture  would  I  at  that  time  have  made  :  3° 

And  seen  the  soul  of  truth  in  every  part, 

A  steadfast  peace  that  might  not  be  betrayed. 

So  once  it  would  have  been,  —  't  is  so  no  more  ; 

I  have  submitted  to  a  new  control  : 

A  power  is  gone,  which  nothing  can  restore  ;  35 

A  deep  distress  hath  humanised  my  Soul. 

Not  for  a  moment  could  I  now  behold 

A  smiling  sea,  and  be  what  I  have  been  : 

The  feeling  of  my  loss  will  ne'er  be  old  ; 

This,  which  I  know,  I  speak  with  mind  serene.  4° 

.  Then,  Beaumont,  Friend  !  who  would  have  been  the 
Friend, 
If  he  had  lived,  of  Him  whom  I  deplore. 
This  work  of  thine  I  blame  not,  but  commend  ; 
This  sea  in  anger,  and  that  dismal  shore. 


V 

CHARACTER    OF    THE   HAPPY   WARRIOR.  309 

0  't  is  a  passionate  work  !  —  yet  wise  and  well,  45 
Well  chosen  is  the  spirit  that  is  here  ; 

That  Hulk  which  labours  in  the  deadly  swell, 
This  rueful  sky,  this  pageantry  of  fear  ! 

And  this  huge  Castle,  standing  here  sublime, 

1  love  to  see  the  look  with  which  it  braves,  5° 
Cased  in  the  unfeeling  armour  of  old  time. 

The  lightning,  the  fierce  wind,  and  trampling  waves. 

Farewell,  farewell  the  heart  that  lives  alone. 
Housed  in  a  dream,  at  distance  from  the  Kind  ! 
Such  happiness,  wherever  it  be  known,  55 

Is  to  be  pitied  ;  for  't  is  surely  blind. 

But  welcome  fortitude,  and  patient  cheer. 
And  frequent  sights  of  what  is  to  be  borne  ! 
Such  sights,  or  worse,  as  are  before  me  here,  — 
Not  without  hope  we  suffer  and  we  mourn,  60 

1805. 


CHARACTER    OF   THE    HAPPY    WARRIOR. 

Who  is  the  happy  Warrior  ?     Who  is  he 

That  ever  man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be  ? 

—  It  is  the  generous  Spirit,  who,  when  brought 

Among  the  tasks  of  real  life,  hath  wrought 

Upon  the  plan  that  pleased  his  boyish  thought  : 

Whose  high  endeavours  are  an  inward  light 

That  makes  the  path  before  him  always  bright  : 

Who,  with  a  natural  instinct  to  discern 

What  knowledge  can  perform,  is  diligent  to  learn  ; 

Abides  by  this  resolve,  and  stops  not  there. 

But  makes  his  moral  being  his  prime  care ; 


2IO        CHARACTER    OF   THE   HAPPY  WARRIOR. 

Who,  doomed  to  go  in  company  with  Pain, 

And  Fear,  and  Bloodshed,  miserable  train  ! 

Turns  his  necessity  to  glorious  gain  ; 

In  face  of  these  doth  exercise  a  power  15 

Which  is  our  human  nature's  highest  dower  ; 

Controls  them  and  subdues,  transmutes,  bereaves 

Of  their  bad  influence,  and  their  good  receives  : 

By  objects,  which  might  force  the  soul  to  abate 

Her  feeling,  rendered  more  compassionate  ;  20 

Is  placable  —  because  occasions  rise 

So  often  that  demand  such  sacrifice  ; 

More  skilful  in  self-knowledge,  even  more  pure, 

As  tempted  more  ;  more  able  to  endure, 

As  more  exposed  to  suffering  and  distress  ;  25 

Thence,  also,  more  alive  to  tenderness, 

—  '  T  is  he  whose  law  is  reason  ;  who  depends 
Upon  that  law  as  on  the  best  of  friends  ; 
Whence,  in  a  state  where  men  are  tempted  still 

To  evil  for  a  guard  against  worse  ill,  3° 

And  what  in  quality  or  act  is  best 
Doth  seldom  on  a  right  foundation  rest. 
He  labours  good  on  good  to  fix,  and  owes 
To  virtue  every  triumph  that  he  knows  : 

—  Who,  if  he  rise  to  station  of  command,  35 
Rises  by  open  means  ;  and  there  will  stand 

On  honourable  terms,  or  else  retire, 

And  in  himself  possess  his  own  desire  : 

Who  comprehends  his  trust,  and  to  the  same 

Keeps  faithful  with  a  singleness  of  aim  ;  4° 

And  therefore  does  not  stoop,  nor  lie  in  wait 

For  wealth,  or  honours,  or  for  worldly  state  ; 

Whom  they  must  follow  ;  on  whose  head  must  fall, 

Like  showers  of  manna,  if  they  come  at  all : 

Whose  powers  shed  round  him  in  the  common  strife,  45 


CHARACTER    OF   THE   HAPPY   WARRIOR.  211 

Or  mild  concerns  of  ordinary  life, 

A  constant  influence,  a  peculiar  grace  ; 

But  who,  if  he  be  called  upon  to  face 

Some  awful  moment  to  which  Heaven  has  joined 

Great  issues,  good  or  bad  for  human  kind,  5° 

Is  happy  as  a  Lover  ;  and  attired 

With  sudden  brightness,  like  a  Man  inspired  ; 

And,  through  the  heat  of  conflict,  keeps  the  law 

In  calmness  made,  and  sees  what  he  foresaw  ; 

Or  if  an  unexpected  call  succeed,  55 

Come  when  it  will,  is  equal  to  the  need  : 

—  He  who,  though  thus  endued  as  with  a  sense 

And  faculty  for  storm  and  turbulence. 

Is  yet  a  Soul  whose  master-bias  leans 

To  homefelt  pleasures  and  to  gentle  scenes  ;  60 

Sweet  images  !  which,  wheresoe'er  he  be, 

Are  at  his  heart ;  and  such  fidelity 

It  is  his  darling  passion  to  approve  ; 

More  brave  for  this,  that  he  hath  much  to  love  :  — 

'Tis,  finally,  the  Man,  who,  lifted  high,  65 

Conspicuous  object  in  a  Nation's  eye, 

Or  left  unthought-of  in  obscurity,  — 

Who,  with  a  toward  or  untoward  lot. 

Prosperous  or  adverse,  to  his  wish  or  not  — 

Plays,  in  the  many  games  of  life,  that  one  7° 

Where  what  he  most  doth  value  must  be  won  : 

Whom  neither  shape  of  danger  can  dismay. 

Nor  thought  of  tender  happiness  betray  ; 

Who,  not  content  that  former  worth  stand  fast. 

Looks  forward,  persevering  to  the  last,  75 

From  well  to  better,  daily  self-surpast : 

Who,  whether  praise  of  him  must  walk  the  earth 

For  ever,  and  to  noble  deeds  give  birth. 

Or  he  must  fall,  to  sleep  without  his  fame, 


212  A    COMPLAINT. 

And  leave  a  dead  unprofitable  name  —  80 

Finds  comfort  in  himself  and  in  his  cause  ; 
And,  while  the  mortal  mist  is  gathering,  draws 
His  breath  in  confidence  of  Heaven's  applause  : 
This  is  the  happy  Warrior ;  this  is  He 
That  every  Man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be.  85 

1806. 


A   COMPLAINT. 

There  is  a  change  —  and  I  am  poor  ; 

Your  love  hath  been,  not  long  ago, 

A  fountain  at  my  fond  heart's  door. 

Whose  only  business  was  to  flow ; 

And  flow  it  did  :  not  taking  heed  5 

Of  its  own  bounty,  or  my  need. 

What  happy  moments  did  I  count  1 

Blest  was  I  then  all  bliss  above  ! 

Now,  for  that  consecrated  fount 

Of  murmuring,  sparkling,  living  love,  10 

What  have  I  ?  shall  I  dare  to  tell  ? 

A  comfortless  and  hidden  well. 

A  well  of  love  —  it  may  bo  deep  — 

I  trust  it  is,  —  and  never  dry  : 

What  matter  'i  if  the  waters  sleep  15 

In  silence  and  obscurity. 

—  Such  change,  and  at  the  very  door 

Of  my  fond  heart,  hath  made  me  poor. 

1806. 


STRAY  PLEASURES.  213 


STRAY    PLEASURES. 

" Pleasure  is  spread  through  the  earth 

In  stray  gifts  to  be  claimed  by  whoever  shall  findP 

By  their  floating  mill, 

That  lies  dead  and  still, 
Behold  yon  Prisoners  three, 
The  Miller  with  two  Dames,  on  the  breast  of  the 

Thames  ! 
The  platform  is  small,  but  gives  room  for  them  all ;  5 

And  they're  dancing  merrily. 

From  the  shore  come  the  notes 

To  their  mill  where  it  floats, 
To  their  house  and  their  mill  tethered  fast : 
To  the  small  wooden  isle  where,,  their  work  to  beguile,       10 
They  from  morning  to  even  take  whatever  is  given ;  — 
And  many  a  blithe  day  they  have  past. 

In  sight  of  the  spires, 

All  alive  with  the  fires 
Of  the  sun  going  down  to  his  rest,  '5 

In  the  broad  open  eye  of  the  solitary  sky, 
They  dance,  —  there  are  three,  as  jocund  as  free. 
While  they  dance  on  the  calm  river's  breast. 

Man  and  Maidens  wheel. 

They  themselves  make  the  reel,  20 

And  their  music 's  a  prey  which  they  seize  ; 
It  plays  not  for  them,  —  what  matter  }  't  is  theirs  ; 
And  if  they  had  care,  it  has  scattered  their  cares, 
While  they  dance,  crying,    "  Long  as  ye  please  !  " 


214 


POWER    OF  MUSIC. 


They  dance  not  for  me,  25 

Yet  mine  is  their  glee  ! 
Thus  pleasure  is  spread  through  the  earth 
In  stray  gifts  to  be  claimed  by  whoever  shall  find ; 
Thus  a  rich  loving-kindness,  redundantly  kind, 
Moves  all  nature  to  gladness  and  mirth.  3° 

The  showers  of  the  spring 

Rouse  the  birds,  and  they  sing ; 
If  the  wind  do  but  stir  for  his  proper  delight, 
Each  leaf,  that  and  this,  his  neighbour  will  kiss  ; 
Each  wave,  one  and  t'  other,  speeds  after  his  brother  :       35 
They  are  happy,  for  that  is  their  right ! 

1806. 


POWER    OF   MUSIC. 

An  Orpheus  !  an  Orpheus  !  yes.  Faith  may  grow  bold. 
And  take  to  herself  all  the  wonders  of  old  ;  — 
Near  the  stately  Pantheon  you  '11  meet  with  the  same 
In  the  street  that  from  Oxford  hath  borrowed  its  name. 

His  station  is  there  ;  and  he  works  on  the  crowd. 
He  sways  them  with  harmony  merry  and  loud  ; 
He  fills  with  his  power  all  their  hearts  to  the  brim  — 
Was  aught  ever  heard  like  his  fiddle  and  him  } 

What  an  eager  assembly  !  what  an  empire  is  this  ! 
The  weary  have  life,  and  the  hungry  have  bliss  ; 
The  mourner  is  cheered,  and  the  anxious  have  rest ; 
And  the  guilt-burthened  soul  is  no  longer  opprest. 


POWER    OF  MUSIC. 


215 


As  the  Moon  brightens  round  her  the  clouds  of  the  night, 
So  He,  where  he  stands,  is  a  centre  of  light ; 
It  gleams  on  the  face,  there,  of  dusky-browed  Jack,  15 

And  the  pale-visaged  Baker's,  with  basket  on  back. 

That  errand-bound  'Prentice  was  passing  in  haste  — 
What  matter  !  he  's  caught  —  and  his  time  runs  to  waste  ; 
The  Newsman  is  stopped,  though  he  stops  on  the  fret ; 
And  the  half-breathless  Lamplighter  —  he  's  in  the  net !      20 

The  Porter  sits  down  on  the  weight  which  he  bore  ; 
The  Lass  with  her  barrow  wheels  hither  her  store  ;  — 
If  a  thief  could  be  here  he  might  pilfer  at  ease  ; 
She  sees  the  Musician,  't  is  all  that  she  sees  ! 

He  stands,  backed  by  the  wall ;  —  he  abates  not  his  din     25 
His  hat  gives  him  vigour,  with  boons  dropping  in. 
From  the  old  and  the  young,  from  the  poorest ;  and  there  ! 
The  one-pennied  Boy  has  his  penny  to  spare, 

0  blest  are  the  hearers,  and  proud  be  the  hand 

Of  the  pleasure  it  spreads  through  so  thankful  a  band  ;       3° 

1  am  glad  for  him,  blind  as  he  is  !  —  all  the  while 

If  they  speak  't  is  to  praise,  and  they  praise  with  a  smile. 

That  tall  Man,  a  giant  in  bulk  and  in  height, 

Not  an  inch  of  his  body  is  free  from  delight ; 

Can  he  keep  himself  still,  if  he  would  ?  oh,  not  he  !  35 

The  music  stirs  in  him  like  wind  through  a  tree. 

Mark  that  Cripple  who  leans  on  his  crutch  ;  like  a  tower 
That  long  has  leaned  forward,  leans  hour  after  hour  !  — 
That  Mother,  whose  spirit  in  fetters  is  bound, 
While  she  dandles  the  Babe  in  her  arms  to  the  sound.        40 


2x6  STAR-GAZERS. 

Now,  coaches  and  chariots  !  roar  on  like  a  stream  ; 

Here  are  twenty  souls  happy  as  souls  in  a  dream  : 

They  are  deaf  to  your  murmurs  — they  care  not  for  you, 

Nor  what  ye  are  flying,  nor  what  ye  pursue  ! 

1806. 


STAR-GAZERS. 

What  crowd  is  this  ?  what  have  we  here  !  we  m.ust  not 

pass  it  by ; 
A  Telescope  upon  its  frame,  and  pointed  to  the  sky : 
Long  is  it  as  a  barber's  pole,  or  mast  of  little  boat. 
Some  little  pleasure-skiff,  that  doth  on  Thames's  waters 

float. 

The  Showman  chooses  well  his  place,  't  is  Leicester's  busy 

square ;  5 

And  is  as  happy  in  his  night,  for  the  heavens  are  blue  and 

fair ; 
Calm,  though  impatient,  is  the  crowd  ;  each  stands  ready 

with  the  fee, 
And  envies  him  that 's  looking ;  —  what  an  insight  must 

it  be  ! 

Yet,  Showman,  where  can  lie  the  cause  ?  Shall  thy  Imple- 
ment have  blame, 

A  boaster,  that  when   he   is   tried,  fails,  and   is  put  to 

shame?  10 

Or  is  it  good  as  others  are,  and  be  their  eyes  in  fault  ? 

Their  eyes,  or  minds  ?  or,  finally,  is  yon  resplendent  vault  ? 

Is  nothing  of  that  radiant  pomp  so  good  as  we  have  here  ? 
Or  gives  a  thing  but  small  delight  that  never  can  be  dear  ? 


STAR-GAZERS.  217 

The  silver  moon  with  all  her  vales,  and  hills  of  mightiest 

fame,  1 5 

Doth  she  betray  us  when  they  're  seen  ?  or  are  they  but  a 
name  ? 

Or  is  it  rather  that  Conceit  rapacious  is  and  strong, 
And  bounty  never  yields  so  much  but  it  seems  to  do  her 

wrong  ? 
Or  is  it,  that  when  human  Souls  a  journey  long  have  had 
And   are  returned  into  themselves,  they  cannot  but  be 

sad  ?  ■  20 

Or  must  we  be  constrained  to  think  that  these  Spectators 

rude. 
Poor  in  estate,  of  manners  base,  men  of  the  multitude, 
Have   souls  which   never   yet  have  risen,  and  therefore 

prostrate  lie  ? 
No,  no,  this    cannot    be ;  —  men    thirst    for   power    and 

majesty  ! 

Does,  then,  a  deep  and  earnest  thought  the  blissful  mind 

employ  25 

Of  him  who  gazes,  or  has  gazed  ?  a  grave  and  steady  joy, 

That  doth  reject  all  show  of  pride,  admits  no  outward 
sign, 

Because  not  of  this  noisy  world,  but  silent  and  divine  ! 

Whatever  be  the  cause,  't  is  sure  that  they  who  pry  and 

pore 
Seem   to   meet  with    little   gain,  seem    less    happy  than 

before :  30 

One  after  One  they  take  their  turn,  nor  have  I  one  espied 
That  doth  not  slackly  go  away,  as  if  dissatisfied. 

1S06. 


PERSONAL    TALK. 


YES,   IT    WAS   THE   MOUNTAIN    ECHO." 

Yes,  it  was  the  mountain  Echo, 
Solitary,  clear,  profound, 
Answering  to  the  shouting  Cuckoo, 
Giving  to  her  sound  for  sound  ! 

Unsolicited  reply  5 

To  a  babbling  wanderer  sent; 

Like  her  ordinary  cry. 

Like  —  but  oh,  how  different  ! 

Hears  not  also  mortal  Life  ? 

Hear  not  we,  unthinking  Creatures  !  10 

Slaves  of  folly,  love,  or  strife  — 

Voices  of  two  different  natures  ? 

Have  not  we  too  ?  —  yes,  we  have 

Answers,  and  we  know  not  whence  ; 

Echoes  from  beyond  the  grave,  15 

Recognised  intelligence  ! 

Such  rebounds  our  inward  ear 

Catches  sometimes  from  afar  — 

Listen,  ponder,  hold  them  dear  ; 

For  of  God,  —  of  God  they  are.  20 

1806. 


PERSONAL   TALK. 


I  AM  not  One  who  much  or  oft  delight 
To  season  my  fireside  with  personal  talk,  ■ 
Of  friends,  who  live  within  an  easy  walk. 
Or  neighbours,  daily,  weekly,  in  my  sight 


PERSONAL    TALK.  219 

And,  for  my  chance-acquaintance,  ladies  bright,  5 

Sons,  mothers,  maidens  withering  on  the  stalk, 

These  all  wear  out  of  me,  like  Forms,  with  chalk 

Painted  on  rich  men's  floors,  for  one  feast-night. 

Better  than  such  discourse  doth  silence  long. 

Long,  barren  silence,  square  with  my  desire  ;  10 

To  sit  without  emotion,  hope,  or  aim. 

In  the  loved  presence  of  my  cottage  fire, 

And  listen  to  the  flapping  of  the  flame, 

Or  kettle  whispering  its  faint  undersong. 


"  Yet  life,"  you  say,  "  is  life ;  we  have  seen  and  see, 

And  with  a  living  pleasure  we  describe  ; 

And  fits  of  sprightly  malice  do  but  bribe 

The  languid  mind  into  activity. 

Sound  sense,  and  love  itself,  and  mirth  and  glee 

Are  fostered  by  the  comment  and  the  gibe." 

Even  be  it  so  ;  yet  still  among  your  tribe. 

Our  daily  world's  true  Worldlings,  rank  not  me  ! 

Children  are  blest,  and  powerful ;  their  world  lies 

More  justly  balanced  ;  partly  at  their  feet. 

And  part  far  from  them  :  sweetest  melodies 

Are  those  that  are  by  distance  made  more  sweet ; 

Whose  mind  is  but  the  mind  of  his  own  eyes, 

He  is  a  Slave  ;  the  meanest  we  can  meet  ! 


Wings  have  we,  —  and  as  far  as  we  can  go, 

We  may  find  pleasure  :  wilderness  and  wood,  3° 

Blank  ocean  and  mere  sky,  support  that  mood 

Which  with  the  lofty  sanctifies  the  low. 

Dreams,  books,  are  each  a  world  ;  and  books,  we  know, 

Are  a  substantial  world,  both  pure  and  good  : 


220  PERSONAL    TALK. 

Round  these,  with  tendrils  strong  as  flesh  and  blood,     35 

Our  pastime  and  our  happiness  will  grow. 

There  find  I  personal  themes,  a  plenteous  store. 

Matter  wherein  right  voluble  I  am, 

To  which  I  listen  with  a  ready  ear  ; 

Two  shall  be  named,  pre-eminently  dear,  —  4° 

The  gentle  Lady  married  to  the  Moor ; 

And  heavenly  Una  with  her  milk-white  Lamb. 


Nor  can  I  not  believe  but  that  hereby 

Great  gains  are  mine  ;  for  thus  I  live  remote 

From  evil-speaking  ;  rancour,  never  sought,  45 

Comes  to  me  not ;  malignant  truth,  or  lie. 

Hence  have  I  genial  seasons,  hence  have  I 

Smooth  passions,  smooth  discourse,  and  joyous  thought : 

And  thus  from  day  to  day  my  little  boat 

Rocks  in  its  harbour,  lodging  peaceably.  5° 

Blessings  be  with  them  —  and  eternal  praise, 

Who  gave  us  nobler  loves,  and  nobler  cares  — 

The  Poets,  who  on  earth  have  made  us  heirs 

Of  truth  and  pure  delight  by  heavenly  lays  ! 

Oh  !  might  my  name  be  numbered  among  theirs,  55 

Then  gladly  would  I  end  my  mortal  days. 

i8o6  (?). 


LIASES.  221 


LINES 


Composed  at  Grasmere,  during  a  walk  one  Evening,  after  a  stormy  day, 
the  Author  having  just  read  in  a  Newspaper  that  the  dissolution  of  Mr.  Fox 
was  hourly  expected. 

Loud  is  the  Vale  !  the  Voice  is  up 

With  which  she  speaks  when  storms  are  gone, 

A  mighty  unison  of  streams  ! 

Of  all  her  Voices,  One  ! 

Loud  is  the  Vale  ;  —  this  inland  Depth  5 

In  peace  is  roaring  like  the  Sea ; 
Yon  star  upon  the  mountain-top 
Is  listening  quietly. 

Sad  was  I,  even  to  pain  deprest, 

Importunate  and  heavy  load  ! '  lo 

The  Comforter  hath  found  me  here, 

Upon  this  lonely  road  ; 

And  many  thousands  now  are  sad  — 

Wait  the  fulfilment  of  their  fear  ; 

For  he  must  die  who  is  their  stay,  iS 

Their  glory  disappear. 

A  Power  is  passing  from  the  earth 

To  breathless  Nature's  dark  abyss  ; 

But  when  the  great  and  good  depart 

What  is  it  more  than  this  —  20 

That  Man,  who  is  from  God  sent  forth, 

Doth  yet  again  to  God  return  ?  — 

Such  ebb  and  flow  must  ever  be, 

Then  wherefore  should  we  mourn  ? 

1806. 

1  Importuna  e  grave  salnia.  —  Michael  Angelo. 


22  2  ODE. 


INTIMATIONS   OF    IMMORTALITY    FROM    RECOLLECTIONS   OF 
EARLY   CHILDHOOD. 

"  The  Child  is  Father  of  the  Man  ; 
And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 
Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety." 


There  was  a  time  when  meadow,  grove,  and  stream, 
The  earth,  and  every  common  sight, 
To  me  did  seem 
Apparelled  in  celestial  light, 
The  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream.  S 

It  is  not  now  as  it  hath  been  of  yore  ;  — • 
Turn  wheresoe'er  I  may, 
By  night  or  day. 
The  things  which  I  have  seen  I  now  can  see  no  more. 


The  Rainbow  comes  and  goes,  lo 

And  lovely  is  the  Rose, 
The  Moon  doth  with  delight 
Look  round  her  when  the  heavens  are  bare, 
Waters  on  a  starry  night 

Are  beautiful  and  fair  ;  15 

The  sunshine  is  a  glorious  birth  ; 
But  yet  I  know,  where'er  I  go, 
That  there  hath  past  away  a  glory  from  the  earth. 


Now,  while  the  birds  thus  sing  a  joyous  song. 
And  while  the  young  lambs  bound 
As  to  the  tabor's  sound, 


ODE.  223 

To  me  alone  there  came  a  thought  of  grief  ; 
A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief, 

And  I  again  am  strong  : 
The  cataracts  blow  their  trumpets  from  the  steep  ;  25 

No  more  shall  grief  of  mine  the  season  wrong ; 
I  hear  the  Echoes  through  the  mountains  throng, 
The  Winds  come  to  me  from  the  fields  of  sleep, 
And  all  the  earth  is  gay  ; 

Land  and  sea  3° 

Give  themselves  up  to  jollity, 

And  with  the  heart  of  May 
Doth  every  Beast  keep  holiday  ;  — 
Thou  Child  of  Joy, 
Shout  round  me,  let  me    hear    thy   shouts,  thou 

happy  Shepherd-boy !  35 


Ye  blessed  Creatures,  I  have  heard  the  call 

Ye  to  each  other  make  ;   I  see 
The  heavens  laugh  with  you  in  your  jubilee  : 

My  heart  is  at  your  festival,  4° 

My  head  hath  its  coronal, 
The  fulness  of  your  bliss,  I  feel  —  I  feel  it  all. 

Oh  evil  day  !  if  I  were  sullen 

While  Earth  herself  is  adorning, 

This  sweet  May-morning,  45 

And  the  Children  are  culling 
On  every  side. 

In  a  thousand  valleys  far  and  wide. 

Fresh  flowers  ;  while  the  sun  shines  warm. 
And  the  Babe  leaps  up  on  his  Mother's  arm  :  —  5° 

I  hear,  I  hear,  with  joy  I  hear  ! 

—  But  there  's  a  Tree,  of  many,  one, 
A  single  Field  which  I  have  looked  upon, 


224  ODE. 

Both  of  them  speak  of  something  that  is  gone  : 

The  Pansy  at  my  feet  55 

Doth  the  same  tale  repeat  : 

Whither  is  fled  the  visionary  gleam  ? 

Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream  ? 


Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting  : 

The  Soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  Star,  60 

Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting, 
And  Cometh  from  afar  : 

Not  in  entire  forgetfulness. 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness. 
But  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come  65 

From  God,  who  is  our  home  : 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy  ! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  Boy, 
But  He  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  flows,  70 

He  sees  it  in  his  joy; 
The  Youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 

Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  Priest, 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended ;  75 

At  length  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away. 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 


Earth  fills  her  lap  with  pleasures  of  her  own  ; 

Yearnings  she  hath  in  her  own  natural  kind. 

And,  even  with  something  of  a  Mother's  mind,  80 

And  no  unworthy  aim, 

The  homely  Nurse  doth  all  she  can 
To  make  her  Foster-child,  her  Inmate  Man, 


ODE. 


225 


Forget  the  glories  he  hath  known, 
And  that  imperial  palace  whence  he  came.  85 


Behold  the  Child  among  his  new-born  blisses, 

A  six  years'  Darling  of  a  pigmy  size  ! 

See,  where  'mid  work  of  his  own  hand  he  lies, 

Fretted  by  sallies  of  his  mother's  kisses, 

With  light  upon  him  from  his  father's  eyes  !  9° 

See,  at  his  feet,  some  little  plan  or  chart, 

Some  fragment  from  his  dream  of  human  life. 

Shaped  by  himself  with  newly-learned  art ; 

A  wedding  or  a  festival, 

A  mourning  or  a  funeral ;  95 

And  this  hath  now  his  heart. 

And  unto  this  he  frames  his  song  : 
Then  will  he  fit  his  tongue 
To  dialogues  of  business,  love,  or  strife  ; 

But  it  will  not  be  long  100 

Ere  this  be  thrown  aside, 

And  with  new  joy  and  pride 
The  little  Actor  cons  another  part ; 
Filling  from  time  to  time  his  "  humorous  stage  " 
With  all  the  Persons,  down  to  palsied  Age,  105 

That  Life  brings  with  her  in  her  equipage  ; 

As  if  his  whole  vocation 

Were  endless  imitation. 


Thou,  whose  exterior  semblance  doth  belie 

Thy  Soul's  immensity  ; 
Thou  best  Philosopher,  who  yet  dost  keep 
Thy  heritage,  thou  Eye  among  the  blind, 
That,  deaf  and  silent,  read'st  the  eternal  deep, 


2  26  ODE. 

Haunted  for  ever  by  the  eternal  mind,  — 

Mighty  Prophet !   Seer  blest !  115 

On  whom  those  truths  do  rest, 
Which  we  are  toiling  all  our  lives  to  find, 
In  darkness  lost,  the  darkness  of  the  grave  ; 
Thou,  over  whom  thy  Immortality 

Broods  like  the  Day,  a  Master  o'er  a  Slave,  120 

A  Presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  by  ; 
Thou  little  Child,  yet  glorious  in  the  might 
Of  heaven-born  freedom  on  thy  being's  height. 
Why  with  such  earnest  pains  dost  thou  provoke 
The  years  to  bring  the  inevitable  yoke,  125 

Thus  blindly  with  thy  blessedness  at  strife  ? 
Full  soon  thy  Soul  shall  have  her  earthly  freight, 
And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight, 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  life  !  / / 


O  joy  !  that  in  our  embers  130 

Is  something  that  doth  live. 
That  nature  yet  remembers 
What  was  so  fugitive  ! 
The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  breed 
Perpetual  benediction  :  not  indeed  135 

For  that  which  is  most  worthy  to  be  blessed  — 
Delight  and  liberty,  the  simple  creed 
Of  Childhood,  whether  busy  or  at  rest. 
With  new-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in  his  breast :  — 
Not  for  these  I  raise  140 

The  song  of  thanks  and  praise  ; 
But  for  those  obstinate  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  things. 
Fallings  from  us,  vanishings  ; 
Blank  misgivings  of  a  Creature  145 


II 


ODE. 


227 


Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realised, 

High  instincts  before  which  our  mortal  Nature 

Did  tremble  like  a  guilty  Thing  surprised  : 

But  for  those  first  affections, 

Those  shadowy  recollections,  150 

Which,  be  they  what  they  may. 
Are  yet  the  fountain  light  of  all  our  day, 
Are  yet  a  master  light  of  all  our  seeing  ; 

Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being  155 

Of  the  eternal  Silence  :  truths  that  wake, 

To  perish  never  ; 
Which  neither  listlessness,  nor  mad  endeavour. 

Nor  Man  nor  Boy, 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy,  160 

Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy  ! 

Hence  in  a  season  of  calm  weather 

Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  Souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 

Which  brought  us  hither,  165 

Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither. 
And  see  the  Children  sport  upon  the  shore. 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 


Then  sing,  ye  Birds,  sing,  sing  a  joyous  song  ! 

And  let  the  young  Lambs  bound  170 

As  to  the  tabor's  sound  ! 
We  in  thought  will  join  your  throng, 

Ye  that  pipe  and  ye  that  play. 

Ye  that  through  your  hearts  to-day 

Feel  the  gladness  of  the  May !  175 

What  though  the  radiance  which  was  once  so  bright 
Be  now  for  ever  taken  from  my  sight. 


!8  ODE. 

Though  nothing  can  bring  back  the  hour 
Of  splendour  in  the  grass,  of  glory  in  the  flower ; 

We  will  grieve  not,  rather  find  i8o 

Strength  in  what  remains  behind  ; 

In  the  primal  sympathy 

Which  having  been  must  ever  be ; 

In  the  soothing  thoughts  that  spring 

Out  of  human  suffering  ;  185 

In  the  faith  that  looks  through  death, 
In  years  that  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 


And  O,  ye  Fountains,  Meadows,  Hills,  and  Groves, 

Forebode  not  any  severing  of  our  loves  ! 

Yet  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  feel  your  might ;  19° 

I  only  have  relinquished  one  delight 

To  live  beneath  your  more  habitual  sway. 

I  love  the  Brooks  which  down  their  channels  fret, 

Even  more  than  when  I  tripped  lightly  as  they ; 

The  innocent  brightness  of  a  new-born  Day  195 

Is  lovely  yet ; 
The  Clouds  that  gather  round  the  setting  sun 
Do  take  a  sober  colouring  from  an  eye 
That  hath  kept  watch  o'er  man's  mortality  ; 
Another  race  hath  been,  and  other  palms  are  won.         200 
Thanks  to  the  human  heart  by  which  we  live. 
Thanks  to  its  tenderness,  its  joys,  and  fears. 
To  me  the  meanest  flower  that  blows  can  give 
Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

I 80 7-6. 


y 

SONG  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  BROUGHAM  CASTLE.      229 

"O   NIGHTINGALE!     THOU    SURELY    ART." 

0  Nightingale  !  thou  surely  art 
A  creature  of  a  "  fiery  heart  "  :  — 

These  notes  of  thine  —  they  pierce  and  pierce  ; 

Tumultuous  harmony  and  fierce  ! 

Thou  sing'st  as  if  the  God  of  wine  5 

Had  helped  thee  to  a  Valentine  ; 

A  song  in  mockery  and  despite 

Of  shades,  and  dews,  and  silent  night ; 

And  steady  bliss,  and  all  the  loves 

Now  sleeping  in  these  peaceful  groves.  10 

1  heard  a  Stock-dove  sing  or  say    . 
His  homely  tale,  this  very  day ; 
His  voice  was  buried  among  trees, 
Yet  to  be  come  at  by  the  breeze  : 

He  did  not  cease  ;  but  cooed  —  and  cooed  ;  15 

And  somewhat  pensively  he  wooed  : 

He  sang  of  love,  with  quiet  blending, 

Slow  to  begin,  and  never  ending  ; 

Of  serious  faith,  and  inward  glee  ; 

That  was  the  song  —  the  song  for  me  !  -o 

1806. 


SONG  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  BROUGHAM  CASTLE, 

UPON    THE    RESTORATION    OF    LORD    CLIFFORD,    THE    SHEPHERD, 
TO    THE    ESTATES    AND    HONOURS    OF    HIS    ANCESTORS. 

High  in  the  breathless  Hall  the  Minstrel  sate. 
And  Emont's  murmur  mingled  with  the  Song.  — 
The  words  of  ancient  time  I  thus  translate, 
A  festal  strain  that  hath  been  silent  long  :  — 


230    SONG  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  BROUGHAM  CASTLE. 

"  From  town  to  town,  from  tower  to  tower,  5 

The  red  rose  is  a  gladsome  flower. 

Her  thirty  years  of  winter  past. 

The  red  rose  is  revived  at  last  ; 

She  lifts  her  head  for  endless  spring, 

For  everlasting  blossoming  :  10 

Both  roses  flourish,  red  and  white  : 

In  love  and  sisterly  delight 

The  two  that  were  at  strife  are  blended, 

And  all  old  troubles  now  are  ended.  — 

Joy  !  joy  to  both!  but  most  to  her  15 

Who  is  the  flower  of  Lancaster  ! 

Behold  her  how  She  smiles  to-day 

On  this  great  throng,  this  bright  array ! 

Fair  greeting  doth  she  send  to  all 

From  every  corner  of  the  hall  ;  20 

But  chiefly  from  above  the  board 

Where  sits  in  state  our  rightful  Lord, 

A  Clifford  to  his  own  restored  ! 

They  came  with  banner,  spear,  and  shield. 
And  it  was  proved  in  Bosworth-field.  25 

Not  long  the  Avenger  was  withstood  — 
Earth  helped  him  with  the  cry  of  blood  : 
St.  George  was  for  us,  and  the  might 
Of  blessed  Angels  crowned  the  right. 
Loud  voice  the  Land  has  uttered  forth,  30 

We  loudest  in  the  faithful  north  : 
Our  fields  rejoice,  our  mountains  ring, 
Our  streams  proclaim  a  welcoming ; 
Our  strong-abodes  and  castles  see 
The  glory  of  their  loyalty.  35 

How  glad  is  Skipton  at  this  hour  — 
Though  lonely,  a  deserted  Tower  ; 


SONG  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  BROUGHAM  CASTLE.     231 

Knight,  squire,  and  yeoman,  page  and  groom  : 

We  have  them  at  the  feast  of  Brough  'm. 

How  glad  Pendragon — though  the  sleep  4° 

Of  years  be  on  her  !  —  She  shall  reap 

A  taste  of  this  great  pleasure,  viewing 

As  in  a  dream  her  own  renewing. 

Rejoiced  is  Brough,  right  glad  I  deem 

Beside  her  little  humble  stream  ;  45 

And  she  that  keepeth  watch  and  ward 

Her  statelier  Eden's  course  to  guard  ; 

They  both  are  happy  at  this  hour. 

Though  each  is  but  a  lonely  Tower :  — 

But  here  is  perfect  joy  and  pride  5° 

For  one  fair  House  by  Emont's  side, 

This  day,  distinguished  without  peer, 

To  see  her  Master  and  to  cheer  — 

Him,  and  his  Lady-mother  dear ! 

Oh  !  it  was  a  time  forlorn  55 

When  the  fatherless  was  born  — 
Give  her  wings  that  she  may  fly. 
Or  she  sees  her  infant  die  ! 
Swords  that  are  with  slaughter  wild 
Hunt  the  Mother  and  the  Child.  60 

Who  will  take  them  from  the  light.'' 
—  Yonder  is  a  man  in  sight  — 
Yonder  is  a  house  —  but  where  ? 
No,  they  must  not  enter  there. 

To  the  caves,  and  to  the  brooks,  65 

To  the  clouds  of  heaven  she  looks ; 
She  is  speechless,  but  her  eyes 
Pray  in  ghostly  agonies. 
Blissful  Mary,  Mother  mild, 

Maid  and  Mother  undefiled,  70 

Save  a  Mother  and  her  Child  ! 


232     SONG  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  BROUGHAM  CASTLE. 

Now  Who  is  he  that  bounds  with  joy 
On  Carrock's  side,  a  Shepherd-boy  ? 
No  thoughts  hath  he  but  thoughts  that  pass 
Light  as  the  wind  along  the  grass.  75 

Can  this  be  He  who  hither  came 
In  secret,  like  a  smothered  flame  ? 
O'er  whom  such  thankful  tears  were  shed 
For  shelter,  and  a  poor  man's  bread  ! 
God  loves  the  Child  ;  and  God  hath  willed  80 

That  those  dear  words  should  be  fulfilled, 
The  Lady's  words,  when  forced  away. 
The  last  she  to  her  Babe  did  say  : 
'  My  own,  my  own,  thy  Fellow-guest 
I  may  not  be;  but  rest  thee,  rest,  85 

For  lowly  shepherd's  life  is  best ! ' 

Alas  !  when  evil  men  are  strong 
No  life  is  good,  no  pleasure  long. 
The  Boy  must  part  from  Mosedale's  groves, 
And  leave  Blencathara's  rugged  coves,  90 

And  quit  the  flowers  that  summer  brings 
To  Glenderamakin's  lofty  springs  ; 
Must  vanish  and  his  careless  cheer 
Be  turned  to  heaviness  and  fear. 
—  Give  Sir  Lancelot  Threlkeld  praise  !  95 

Hear  it,  good  man,  old  in  days  ! 
Thou  tree  of  covert  and  of  rest 
For  this  young  Bird  that  is  distrest  ; 
Among  thy  branches  safe  he  lay. 
And  he  was  free  to  sport  and  play,  100 

When  falcons  were  abroad  for  prey. 

A  recreant  harp,  that  sings  of  fear 
And  heaviness  in  Clifford's  ear  ! 
I  said,  when  evil  men  are  strong, 
No  life  is  good,  no  pleasure  long,  105 


SONG  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  BROUGHAM  CASTLE. 


233 


A  weak  and  cowardly  untruth  ! 

Our  Clifford  was  a  happy  Youth, 

And  thankful  through  a  weary  time, 

That  brought  him  up  to  manhood's  prime. 

■ — Again  he  wanders  forth  at  will,  no 

And  tends  a  flock  from  hill  to  hill : 

His  garb  is  humble  ;  ne'er  was  seen 

Such  garb  with  such  a  noble  mien  ; 

Among  the  shepherd  grooms  no  mate 

Hath  he,  a  child  of  strength  and  state  !  ns 

Yet  lacks  not  friends  for  simple  glee, 

Nor  yet  for  higher  sympathy. 

To  his  side  the  fallow-deer 

Came  and  rested  without  fear  ; 

The  eagle,  lord  of  land  and  sea,  120 

Stooped  down  to  pay  him  fealty ; 

And  both  the  undying  fish  that  swim 

Through  Bowscale-tarn  did  wait  on  him  ; 

The  pair  were  servants  of  his  eye 

In  their  immortality;  125 

And  glancing,  gleaming,  dark  or  bright, 

Moved  to  and  fro,  for  his  delight. 

He  knew  the  rocks  which  Angels  haunt 

Upon  the  mountains  visitant ; 

He  hath  kenned  them  taking  wing  :  13*^ 

And  into  caves  where  Faeries  sing 

He  hath  entered  ;   and  been  told 

By  Voices  how  men  lived  of  old. 

Among  the  heavens  his  eye  can  see 

The  face  of  thing  that  is  to  be  ;  13S 

And,  if  that  men  report  him  right. 

His  tongue  could  whisper  words  of  might. 

—  Now  another  day  is  come. 

Fitter  hope,  and  nobler  doom  ; 


234   SONG  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  BROUGHAM  CASTLE. 

He  hath  thrown  aside  his  crook,  140 

And  hath  buried  deep  his  book  ; 

Armour  rusting  in  his  halls 

On  the  blood  of  Clifford  calls  ;  — 

'  Quell  the  Scot,'  exclaims  the  Lance  — 

Bear  me  to  the  heart  of  France,  MS 

Is  the  longing  of  the  Shield — 

Tell  thy  name,  thou  trembling  Field ; 

Field  of  death,  where'er  thou  be, 

Groan  thou  with  our  victory  ! 

Happy  day,  and  mighty  hour,  150 

When  our  Shepherd,  in  his  power. 

Mailed  and  horsed,  with  lance  and  sword, 

To  his  ancestors  restored 

Like  a  re-appearing  Star, 

Like  a  glory  from  afar,  155 

First  shall  head  the  flock  of  war  !  " 

Alas  !  the  impassioned  minstrel  did  not  know 

How,  by  Heaven's  grace,  this   Clifford's   heart    was 

framed, 
How  he,  long  forced  in  humble  walks  to  go, 
Was  softened  into  feeling,  soothed,  and  tamed.  160 

Love  had  he  found  in  huts  where  poor  men  lie; 
His  daily  teachers  had  been  woods  and  rills. 
The  silence  that  is  in  the  starry  sky. 
The  sleep  that  is  among  the  lonely  hills. 

In  him  the  savage  virtue  of  the  Race,  165 

Revenge,  and  all  ferocious  thoughts  were  dead  : 
Nor  did  he  change  ;  but  kept  in  lofty  place 
The  wisdom  which  adversity  had  bred. 


THE   FORCE    OF  PRAYER.  235 

Glad  were  the  vales,  and  every  cottage  hearth  ; 

The  Shepherd-lord  was  honoured  more  and  more  ;  170 

And,  ages  after  he  was  laid  in  earth, 

"The  good  Lord  Clifford"  was  the  name  he  bore. 

1807. 


THE    FORCE    OF    PRAYER  ;    OR   THE    FOUNDING 
OF    BOLTON    PRIORY. 

A  TRADITION. 

"  What  is  good  for  a  bootless  bene  ?  " 

With  these  dark  words  begins  my  Tale  ; 

And  their  meaning  is,  whence  can  comfort  spring 

When  prayer  is  of  no  avail .'' 

"  What  is  good  for  a  bootless  bene  V  5 

The  Falconer  to  the  Lady  said  ; 

And  she  made  answer  "  endless  sorrow  !  " 

For  she  knew  that  her  Son  was  dead. 

She  knew  it  by  the  Falconer's  words. 

And  from  the  look  of  the  Falconer's  eye  ;  10 

And  from  the  love  which  was  in  her  soul 

For  her  youthful  Romilly. 

—  Young  Romilly  through  Barden  woods 

Is  ranging  high  and  low  ; 

And  holds  a  greyhound  in  a  leash,  15 

To  let  slip  upon- buck  or  doe. 

The  pair  have  reached  that  fearful  chasm, 

How  tempting  to  bestride  ! 

For  lordly  Wharf  is  there  pent  in 

With  rocks  on  either  side.  20 


236  THE   FORCE    OF  PRAYER. 

The  striding-place  is  called  The  Strid, 
A  name  which  it  took  of  yore  : 
A  thousand  years  hath  it  borne  that  name, 
And  shall  a  thousand  more. 

And  hither  is  young  Romilly  come,  25 

And  what  may  now  forbid 

That  he,  perhaps  for  the  hundredth  time, 

Shall  bound  across  The  Strid  ? 

He  sprang  in  glee, —  for  what  cared  he 

That  the  river  was  strong,  and  the  rocks  were  steep?  —  30 

But  the  greyhound  in  the  leash  hung  back, 

And  checked  him  in  his  leap. 

The  Boy  is  in  the  arms  of  Wharf, 

And  strangled  by  a  merciless  force  ; 

For  never  more  was  young  Romilly  seen  35 

Till  he  rose  a  lifeless  corse. 

Now  there  is  stillness  in  the  vale. 

And  long,  unspeaking  sorrow  : 

Wharf  shall  be  to  pitying  hearts 

A  name  more  sad  than  Yarrow.  4° 

If  for  a  lover  the  Lady  wept, 

A  solace  she  might  borrow 

From  death,  and  from  the  passion  of  death  ;  — 

Old  Wharf  might  heal  her  sorrow. 

She  weeps  not  for  the  wedding-day  45 

Which  was  to  be  to-morrow : 

Her  hope  was  a  further-looking  hope. 

And  hers  is  a  mother's  sorrow. 


CHARACTERISTICS   OF  A    CHILD.  237 

He  was  a  tree  that  stood  alone, 

And  proudly  did  its  branches  wave ;  50 

And  the  root  of  this  delightful  tree 

Was  in  her  husband's  grave  ! 

Long,  long  in  darkness  did  she  sit. 

And  her  first  words  were,  "  Let  there  be 

In  Bolton,  on  the  field  of  \\'harf,  55 

A  stately  Priory  !  " 

The  stately  Priory  was  reared  ; 

And  Wharf,  as  he  moved  along, 

To  matins  joined  a  mournful  voice. 

Nor  failed  at  evensong.  60 

And  the  Lady  prayed  in  heaviness 
That  looked  not  for  relief ! 
But  slowly  did  her  succour  come. 
And  a  patience  to  her  grief. 

Oh  !  there  is  never  sorrow  of  heart  65 

That  shall  lack  a  timely  end. 

If  but  to  God  we  turn,  and  ask 

Of  Him  to  be  our  friend! 

1807. 


CHARACTERISTICS  OF  A  CHILD  THREE  YEARS  OLD. 

Loving  she  is,  and  tractable,  though  wild ; 
And  Innocence  hath  privilege  in  her 
To  dignify  arch  looks  and  laughing  eyes  ; 
And  feats  of  cunning  ;  and  the  pretty  round 
Of  trespasses,  affected  to  provoke 
Mock-chastisement  and  partnership  in  play. 


238  S'OUJ^CES   OF  SPIRITUAL   STRENGTH. 

And,  as  a  faggot  sparkles  on  the  hearth, 

Not  less  if  unattended  and  alone 

Than  when  both  young  and  old  sit  gathered  round 

And  take  delight  in  its  activity;  10 

Even  so  this  happy  Creature  of  herself 

Is  all-sufficient  ;  solitude  to  her 

Is  blithe  society,  who  fills  the  air 

With  gladness  and  involuntary  songs. 

Light  are  her  sallies  as  the  tripping  fawn's  15 

Forth-startled  from  the  fern  where  she  lay  couched  ; 

Unthought-of,  unexpected,  as  the  stir 

Of  the  soft  breeze  ruffling  the  meadow-fiowers,   - 

Or  from  before  it  chasing  wantonly 

The  many-coloured  images  imprest  20 

Upon  the  bosom  of  a  placid  lake. 


SOURCES    OF    SPIRITUAL   STRENGTH. 

(from  "the  excursion,"  book  IV.) 

'Tis,  by  comparison,  an  easy  task 

Earth  to  despise  ;  but  to  converse  with  heaven  — 

This  is  not  easy :  —  to  relinquish  all 

We  have,  or  hope,  of  happiness  and  joy, 

And  stand  in  freedom  loosened  from  this  world, 

I  deem  not  arduous  :  but  must  needs  confess 

That  't  is  a  thing  impossible  to  frame 

Conceptions  equal  to  the  soul's  desires; 

And  the  most  difficult  of  tasks  to  keep 

Heights  which  the  soul  is  competent  to  gain. 

—  Man  is  of  dust  :  ethereal  hopes  are  his, 

Which,  when  they  should  sustain  themselves  aloft, 


SOUKCES   OF  SPIRITUAL    STKEiVCTII.  239 

Want  due  consistence  ;  like  a  pillar  of  smoke, 

That  with  majestic  energy  from  earth 

Rises  ;  but  having  reached  the  thinner  air,  15 

Melts,  and  dissolves,  and  is  no  longer  seen. 

From  this  infirmity  of  mortal  kind 

Sorrow  proceeds,  which  else  were  not ;   at  least. 

If  grief  be  something  hallowed  and  ordained, 

If,  in  proportion,  it  be  just  and  meet,  20 

Yet,  through  this  weakness  of  the  general  heart, 

Is  it  enabled  to  maintain  its  hold 

In  that  excess  which  conscience  disapproves. 

For  who  could  sink  and  settle  to  that  point 

Of  selfishness  ;  so  senseless  who  could  be  25 

As  long  and  perseveringly  to  mourn 

For  any  object  of  his  love,  removed 

From  this  unstable  world,  if  he  could  fix 

A  satisfying  view  upon  that  state 

Of  pure,  imperishable  blessedness,  3° 

Which  reason  promises,  and  holy  writ 

Ensures  to  all  believers  ?  — Yet  mistrust 

Is  of  such  incapacity,  methinks, 

No  natural  branch  ;  despondency  far  less; 

And  least  of  all,  is  absolute  despair.  35 

—  And,  if  there  be  whose  tender  frames  have  drooped 

Even  to  the  dust  ;  apparently,  through  weight 

Of  anguish  unrelieved,  and  lack  of  power 

An  agonizing  sorrow  to  transmute  ; 

Deem  not  that  proof  is  here  of  hope  withheld  40 

When  wanted  most  ;  a  confidence  impaired 

So  pitiably,  that,  having  ceased  to  see 

With  bodily  eyes,  they  are  borne  down  by  love 

Of  what  is  lost,  and  perish  through  regret. 

Oh  !  no,  the  innocent  Sufferer  often  sees  45 

Too  clearly  ;  feels  too  vividly ;  and  longs 


240  SOURCES   OF  SPIRITUAL   STRENGTH. 

To  realize  the  vision,  with  intense 

And  over-constant  yearning  ;  —  there  —  there  lies 

The  excess,  by  which  the  balance  is  destroyed. 

Too,  too  contracted  are  these  walls  of  flesh,  50 

This  vital  warmth  too  cold,  these  visual  orbs, 

Though  inconceivably  endowed,  too  dim 

For  any  passion  of  the  soul  that  leads 

To  ecstasy  ;  and,  all  the  crooked  paths 

Of  time  and  change  disdaining,  takes  its  course  55 

Along  the  line  of  limitless  desires. 

I,  speaking  now  from  such  disorder  free, 

Nor  rapt,  nor  craving,  but  in  settled  peace, 

I  cannot  doubt  that  they  whom  you  deplore 

Are  glorified  ;  or,  if  they  sleep,  shall  wake  60 

From  sleep,  and  dwell  with  God  in  endless  love. 

Hope,  below  this, 'consists  not  with  belief 

In  mercy,  carried  infinite  degrees 

Beyond  the  tenderness  of  human  hearts  : 

Hope,  below  this,  consists  not  with  belief  65 

In  perfect  wisdom,  guiding  mightiest  power, 

That  finds  no  limits  but  her  own  pure  will. 

Here  then  we  rest  ;  not  fearing  for  our  creed 
The  worst  that  human  reasoning  can  achieve, 
To  unsettle  or  perplex  it  :  yet  with  pain  70 

Acknowledging,  and  grievous  self-reproach, 
That,  though  immovably  convinced,  we  want 
Zeal,  and  the  virtue  to  exist  by  faith 
As  soldiers  live  by  courage  ;  as,  by  strength 
Of  heart,  the  sailor  fights  with  roaring  seas.  75 

Alas  !  the  endowment  of  immortal  power 
Is  matched  unequally  with  custom,  time, 
And  domineering  faculties  of  sense 
In  all ;  in  most,  with  superadded  foes. 


SOURCES   OF  SPIRITUAL   STRENGTH.  241 

Idle  temptations  ;  open  vanities,  So 

Ephemeral  offspring  of  the  unblushing  world ; 

And,  in  the  private  regions  of  the  mind, 

Ill-governed  passions,  ranklings  of  despite, 

Immoderate  wishes,  pining  discontent, 

Distress  and  care.     What  then  remains  ?  —  To  seek    85 

Those  helps  for  his  occasions  ever  near 

Who  lacks  not  will  to  use  them  ;   vows,  renewed 

On  the  first  motion  of  a  holy  thought ; 

Vigils  of  contemplation  ;  praise  ;  and  prayer  — 

A  stream,  which,  from  the  fountain  of  the  heart  9° 

Issuing,  however  feebly,  nowhere  flows 

Without  access  of  unexpected  strength. 

But,  above  all,  the  victory  is  most  sure 

For  him,  who,  seeking  faith  by  virtue,  strives 

To  yield  entire  submission  to  the  law  95 

Of  conscience  —  conscience  reverenced  and  obeyed, 

As  God's  most  intimate  presence  in  the  soul, 

And  his  most  perfect  image  in  the  world. 

—  Endeavour  thus  to  live  ;  these  rules  regard  ; 

These  helps  solicit  ;  and  a  stedfast  seat  100 

Shall  then  be  yours  among  the  happy  few 

Who  dwell  on  earth,  yet  breathe  empyreal  air 

Sons  of  the  morning.     For  your  nobler  part, 

Ere  disencumbered  of  her  mortal  chains, 

Doubt  shall  be  quelled  and  trouble  chased  away  ;      105 

With  only  such  degree  of  sadness  left 

As  may  support  longings  of  pure  desire  ; 

And  strengthen  love,  rejoicing  secretly 

In  the  sublime  attractions  of  the  grave. 

1S0S-1811  (?). 


242  GREEK  DIVINITIES. 

GREEK    DIVINITIES. 
(from  "the  excursion,"  book  IV.) 

Once  more  to  distant  ages  of  the  world 
Let  us  revert,  and  place  before  our  thoughts 
The  face  which  rural  solitude  might  wear 
To  the  unenlightened  swains  of  pagan  Greece. 
—  In  that  fair  clime,  the  lonely  herdsman,  stretched  5 

On  the  soft  grass  through  half  a  summer's  day, 
With  music  lulled  his  indolent  repose  : 
And,  in  some  fit  of  weariness,  if  he. 
When  his  own  breath  was  silent,  chanced  to  hear 
A  distant  strain,  far  sweeter  than  the  sounds  lo 

Which  his  poor  skill  could  make,  his  fancy  fetched. 
Even  from  the  blazing  chariot  of  the  sun, 
A  beardless  Youth,  who  touched  a  golden  lute, 
And  filled  the  illumined  groves  with  ravishment. 
The  nightly  hunter,  lifting  a  bright  eye  15 

Up  towards  the  crescent  moon,  with  grateful  heart 
Called  on  the  lovely  wanderer  who  bestowed 
That  timely  light,  to  share  his  joyous  sport : 
And  hence,  a  beaming  Goddess  with  her  Nymphs, 
Across  the  lawn  and  through  the  darksome  grove,  20 

Not  unaccompanied  with  tuneful  notes 
By  echo  multiplied  from  rock  or  cave. 
Swept  in  the  storm  of  chase  ;  as  moon  and  stars 
Glance  rapidly  along  the  clouded  heaven. 
When  winds  are  blowing  strong.     The  traveller  slaked    25 
His  thirst  from  rill  or  gushing  fount,  and  thanked 
The  Naiad.     Sunbeams,  upon  distant  hills 
Gliding  apace,  with  shadows  in  their  train. 
Might,  with  small  help  from  fancy,  be  transformed 
Into  fleet  Oreads  sporting  visibly.  Jo 

The  Zephyrs  fanning,  as  they  passed,  their  wings, 


THE   SEA-SHELL.  243 

Lacked  not,  for  love,  fair  objects  whom  they  wooed 

With  gentle  whisper.     Withered  boughs  grotesque, 

Stripped  of  their  leaves  and  twigs  by  hoary  age. 

From  depth  of  shaggy  covert  peeping  forth  35 

In  the  low  vale,  or  on  steep  mountain  side  ; 

And,  sometimes,  intermixed  with  stirring  horns 

Of  the  live  deer,  or  goat's  depending  beard, — 

These  were  the  lurking  Satyrs,  a  wild  brood 

Of  gamesome  Deities  ;  or  Pan  himself,  40 

The  simple  shepherd's  awe-inspiring  God  ! 

1808-1S11  (?). 


THE    SEA-SHELL. 

(from    "  THE    EXCURSIO.N,"    BOOK    IV.) 

I  HAVE  seen 
A  curious  child,  who  dwelt  upon  a  tract 
Of  inland  ground,  applying  to  his  ear 
The  convolutions  of  a  smooth-lipped  shell  ; 
To  which,  in  silence  hushed,  his  very  soul  5 

Listened  intensely ;  and  his  countenance  soon 
Brightened  with  joy  :   for  from  within  were  heard 
Murmurings,  whereby  the  monitor  expressed 
Mysterious  union  w^ith  its  native  sea. 
Even  such  a  shell  the  universe  itself  10 

Is  to  the  ear  of  Faith  ;  and  there  are  times,. 
I  doubt  not,  when  to  you  it  doth  impart 
Authentic  tidings  of  invisible  things  ; 
Of  ebb  and  flow,  and  ever-during  power  ; 
And  central  peace,  subsisting  at  the  heart  15 

Of  endless  agitation.     Here  you  stand. 
Adore,  and  worship,  when  you  know  it  not ; 
Pious  beyond  the  intention  of  your  thought ; 
Devout  above  the  meaning  of  your  will. 


244  THE  SEA-SIIELL. 

—  Yes,  you  have  felt,  and  may  not  cease  to  feel.  20 

The  estate  of  man  would  be  indeed  forlorn 

If  false  conclusions  of  the  reasoning  power 

Made  the  eye  blind,  and  closed  the  passages 

Through  which  the  ear  converses  with  the  heart. 

Has  not  the  soul,  the  being  of  your  life,  25 

Received  a  shock  of  awful  consciousness. 

In  some  calm  season,  when  these  lofty  rocks 

At  night's  approach  bring  down  the  unclouded  sky, 

To  rest  upon  their  circumambient  walls  ; 

A  temple  framing  of  dimensions  vast,  30 

And  yet  not  too  enormous  for  the  sound 

Of  human  anthems, — choral  song,  or  burst 

Sublime  of  instrumental  harmony, 

To  glorify  the  Eternal  !     What  if  these 

Did  never  break  the  stillness  that  prevails  35 

Here,  —  if  the  solemn  nightingale  be  mute. 

And  the  soft  woodlark  here  did  never  chant 

Her  vespers,  —  Nature  fails  not  to  provide 

Impulse  and  utterance.     The  whispering  air 

Sends  inspiration  from  the  shadowy  heights,  4° 

And  blind  recesses  of  the  caverned  rocks ; 

The  little  rills,  and  waters  numberless. 

Inaudible  by  daylight,  blend  their  notes 

With  the  loud  streams  :  and  often,  at  the  hour 

When  issue  forth  the  first  pale  stars,  is  heard,  45 

Within  the  circuit  of  this  fabric  huge. 

One  voice  —  the  .solitary  raven,  flying 

Athwart  the  concave  of  the  dark  blue  dome. 

Unseen,  perchance  above  all  power  of  sight  — 

An  iron  knell  !  with  echoes  from  afar  50 

Faint  —  and  still  fainter  —  as  the  cry,  with  which 

The  wanderer  accompanies  her  flight 

Through  the  calm  region,  fades  upon  the  ear. 


LAODAMIA.  245 

Diminishing  by  distance  till  it  seemed 

To  expire  ;  yet  from  the  abyss  is  caught  again,  55 

And  yet  again  recovered  ! 

1 808-181 1  (?). 


LAODAMIA. 


"  With  sacrifice  before  the  rising  morn 
Vows  have  I  made  by  fruitless  hope  inspired  ; 
And  from  the  infernal  Gods,  'mid  shades  forlorn 
Of  night,  my  slaughtered  Lord  have  I  required  : 
Celestial  pity  I  again  implore  ;  —  5 

Restore  him  to  my  sight  —  great  Jove,  restore!  " 

So  speaking,  and  by  fervent  love  endowed 

With  faith,  the  Suppliant  heavenward  lifts  her  hands  ; 

While,  like  the  sun  emerging  from  a  cloud, 

Her  countenance  brightens  —  and  her  eye  expands  ;         10 

Her  bosom  heaves  and  spreads,  her  stature  grows  ; 

And  she  expects  the  issue  in  repose. 

O  terror  !  what  hath  she  perceived  ?  —  O  joy  ! 

What  doth  she  look  on  ?  —  whom  doth  she  behold  ? 

Her  Hero  slain  upon  the  beach  of  Troy?  15 

His  vital  presence  ?  his  corporeal  mould  ? 

It  is —  if  sense  deceive  her  not  —  't  is  He  ! 

And  a  God  leads  him,  winged  Mercury  ! 

Mild  Hermes  spake  —  and  touched  her  with  his  wand 
That  calms  all  fear ;  "  Such  grace  hath  crowned  thy         -0 

prayer, 
Laodamia  !  that  at  Jove's  command 
Thy  Husband  walks  the  paths  of  upper  air  : 
He  comes  to  tarry  with  thee  three  hours'  space  ; 
Accept  the  gift,  behold  him  face  to  face  !  " 


246  LAODAMIA. 

Forth  sprang  the  impassioned  Queen  her  Lord  to  clasp  ;    25 

Again  that  consummation  she  essayed  ; 

But  unsubstantial  Form  eludes  her  grasp 

As  often  as  that  eager  grasp  was  made. 

The  Phantom  parts  —  but  parts  to  re-unite, 

And  re-assume  his  place  before  her  sight.  30 

"  Protesilaus,  lo  !  thy  guide  is  gone  ! 

Confirm,  I  pray,  the  vision  with  thy  voice  : 

This  is  our  palace,  —  yonder  is  thy  throne  ; 

Speak,  and  the  floor  thou  tread'st  on  will  rejoice. 

Not  to  appal  me  have  the  gods  bestowed  35 

This  precious  boon  ;  and  blest  a  sad  abode." 

"  Great  Jove,  Laodami'a !  doth  not  leave 

His  gifts  imperfect  : —  Spectre  though  I  be, 

I  am  not  sent  to  scare  thee  or  deceive  ; 

But  in  reward  of  thy  fidelity.  40 

And  something  also  did  my  worth  obtain  ; 

For  fearless  virtue  bringeth  boundless  gain. 

"  Thou  knowest,  the  Delphic  oracle  foretold 

That  the  first  Greek  who  touched  the  Trojan  strand 

Should  die  ;  but  me  the  threat  could  not  withhold  :  45 

A  generous  cause  a  victim  did  demand ; 

And  forth  I  leapt  upon  the  sandy  plain  ; 

A  self-devoted  chief  —  by  Hector  slain." 

"Supreme  of  Heroes — bravest,  noblest,  best  ! 

Thy  matchless  courage  I  bewail  no  more,  50 

Which  then,  when  tens  of  thousands  were  deprest 

By  doubt,  propelled  thee  to  the  fatal  shore  ; 

Thou  found'st —  and  I  forgive  thee  —  here  thou  art  — 

A  nobler  counsellor  than  my  poor  heart. 


LAODAMIA.  247 

"  But  thou,  though  capable  of  sternest  deed,  55 

Wert  kind  as  resolute,  and  good  as  brave  ; 

And  he,  whose  power  restores  thee,  hath  decreed 

Thou  should'st  elude  the  malice  of  the  grave  : 

Redundant  are  thy  locks,  thy  lips  as  fair 

As  when  their  breath  enriched  Thessalian  air.  60 

"  No  Spectre  greets  me,  —  no  vain  Shadow  this  ; 

Come,  blooming  Hero,  place  thee  by  my  side  ! 

Give,  on  this  well-known  couch,  one  nuptial  kiss 

To  me,  this  day,  a  second  time  thy  bride  !  " 

Jove  frowned  in  heaven  :   the  conscious  Parcse  threw      65 

Upon  those  roseate  lips  a  Stygian  hue. 

"  This  visage  tells  thee  that  my  doom  is  past  : 

Nor  should  the  change  be  mourned,  even  if  the  joys 

Of  sense  were  able  to  return  as  fast 

And  surely  as  they  vanish.     Earth  destroys  7° 

Those  raptures  duly —  Erebus  disdains  : 

Calm  pleasures  there  abide  —  majestic  pains. 

"  Be  taught,  O  faithful  Consort,  to  control 

Rebellious  passion  :  for  the  Gods  approve 

The  depth,  and  not  the  tumult,  of  the  soul  ;  75 

A  fervent,  not  ungovernable,  love. 

Thy  transports  moderate  ;  and  meekly  mourn 

When  I  depart,  for  brief  is  my  sojourn  —  " 

"  Ah,  wherefore  ?  - —  Did  not  Hercules  by  force 

Wrest  from  the  guardian  Monster  of  the  tomb  80 

Alcestis,  a  reanimated  corse. 

Given  back  to  dwell  on  earth  in  vernal  bloom  ? 

Medea's  spells  dispersed  the  weight  of  years. 

And  ^son  stood  a  youth  'mid  youthful  peers. 


48  ■        LAO  DA  MIA. 

"  The  Gods  to  us  are  merciful  —  and  they  85 

Yet  further  may  relent  :  for  mightier  far 

Than  strength  of  nerve  and  sinew,  or  the  sway 

Of  magic  potent  over  sun  and  star, 

Is  love,  though  oft  to  agony  distrest, 

And  though  his  favourite  seat  be  feeble  woman's  breast.  9° 

"  But  if  thou  goest,  I  follow  —  "  "  Peace  !  "  he  said, — 

She  looked  upon  him  and  was  calmed  and  cheered  ; 

The  ghastly  colour  from  his  lips  had  fled  ; 

In  his  deportment,  shape,  and  mien,  appeared 

Elysian  beauty,  melancholy  grace,  95 

Brought  from  a  pensive  though  a  happy  place. 

He  spake  of  love,  such  love  as  Spirits  feel 

In  worlds  whose  course  is  equable  and  pure  ; 

No  fears  to  beat  away  —  no  strife  to  heal  — 

The  past  unsighed  for,  and  the  future  sure ;  100 

Spake  of  heroic  arts  in  graver  mood 

Revived,  with  finer  harmony  pursued  ; 

Of  all  that  is  most  beauteous  —  imaged  there 

In  happier  beauty  ;  more  pellucid  streams, 

An  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air,  105 

And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleams  ; 

Climes  which  the  sun,  who  sheds  the  brightest  day 

Earth  knows,  is  all  unworthy  to  survey. 

Yet  there  the  Soul  shall  enter  which  hath  earned 

That  privilege  by  virtue.  — "111,"  said  he,  "o 

"  The  end  of  man's  existence  I  discerned, 

Who  from  ignoble  games  and  revelry 

Could  draw,  when  we  had  parted,  vain  delight. 

While  tears  were  thy  best  pastime,  day  and  night  ; 


LAODAMIA.  249 

"  And  while  my  youthful  peers  before  my  eyes  "5 

(Each  hero  following  his  peculiar  bent) 

Prepared  themselves  for  glorious  enterprise 

By  martial  sports,  —  or,  seated  in  the  tent. 

Chieftains  and  kings  in  council  were  detained  ; 

What  time  the  fleet  at  Aulis  lay  enchained.  120 

"  The  wished-for  wind  was  given  :  —  I  then  revolved 

The  oracle,  upon  the  silent  sea  ; 

And,  if  no  worthier  led  the  way,  resolved 

That,  of  a  thousand  vessels,  mine  should  be 

The  foremost  prow  in  pressing  to  the  strand,  —  125 

Mine  the  first  blood  that  tinged  the  Trojan  sand. 

"  Yet  bitter,  oft-times  bitter,  was  the  pang 

When  of  thy  loss  I  thought,  beloved  Wife  ! 

On  thee  too  fondly  did  my  memory  hang, 

And  on  the  joys  we  shared  in  mortal  life,  —  13° 

The  paths  which  we  had  trod  —  these  fountains,  flowers. 

My  new-planned  cities,  and  unfinished  towers. 

"  But  should  suspense  permit  the  Foe  to  cry, 

'  Behold  they  tremble  !  —  haughty  their  array, 

Yet  of  their  number  no  one  dares  to  die '  ?  135 

In  soul  I  swept  the  indignity  away  :  • 

Old  frailties  then  recurred  :  —  but  lofty  thought, 

In  act  embodied,  my  deliverance  wrought. 

"  And  Thou,  though  strong  in  love,  art  all  too  weak 

In  reason,  in  self-government  too  slow;  140 

I  counsel  thee  by  fortitude  to  seek 

Our  blest  re-union  in  the  shades  below. 

The  invisible  world  with  thee  hath  sj'mpathised  ; 

Be  thy  affections  raised  and  solemnised. 


250  LAODAM/A. 

"Learn,  by  a  mortal  yearning,  to  ascend —  .145 

Seeking  a  higher  object.     Love  was  given, 

Encouraged,  sanctioned,  chiefly  for  that  end  ; 

For  this  the  passion  to  excess  was  driven  — 

That  self  might  be  annulled  :  her  bondage  prove 

The  fetters  of  a  dream,  opposed  to  love." 15° 


Aloud  she  shrieked  !  for  Hermes  reappears ! 
Round  the  dear  Shade  she  would  have  clung — 'tis 

vain  : 
The  hours  are  past  —  too  brief  had  they  been  years  ; 
And  him  no  mortal  effort  can  detain  : 
Swift,  toward  the  realms  that  know  not  earthly  day,       15S 
He  through  the  portal  takes  his  silent  way. 
And  on  the  palace-floor  a  lifeless  corse  She  lay. 

Thus  all  in  vain  exhorted  and  reproved, 

She  perished  ;  and,  as  for  a  wilful  crime, 

By  the  just  Gods  whom  no  weak  pity  moved,  160 

Was  doomed  to  wear  out  her  appointed  time, 

Apart  from  happy  Ghosts,  that  gather  flowers 

Of  blissful  quiet  'mid  unfading  bowers. 

—  Yet  tears  to  human  suffering  are  due  ; 

And  mortal  hopes  defeated  and  o'erthrown  165 

Are  mourned  by  man,  and  not  by  man  alone. 

As  fondly  he  believes.  —  LIpon  the  side 

Of  Hellespont  (such  faith  was  entertained) 

A  knot  of  spiry  trees  for  ages  grew 

From  out  the  tomb  of  him  for  whom  she  died  ;  170 

And  ever,  when  such  stature  they  had  gained 

That  Ilium's  walls  were  subject  to  their  view, 


VARROIV   VISITED.  251 

The  trees'  tall  summits  withered  at  the  sight  ; 

A  constant  interchange  of  growth  and  blight  !  ^ 

1814. 


YARROW    VISITED. 

SEPTEMBER,   1814. 

(See  page  i8i.) 

And  is  this  —  Yarrow  ?  —  lliis  the  Stream 

Of  which  my  fancy  cherished, 

So  faithfully,  a  waking  dream  ? 

An  image  that  hath  perished ! 

O  that  some  Minstrel's  harp  were  near,  5 

To  utter  notes  of  gladness, 

And  chase  this  silence  from  the  air, 

That  fills  my  heart  with  sadness ! 

Yet  why  ?  —  a  silvery  current  fiows 

With  uncontrolled  meanderings  ;  lo 

Nor  have  these  eyes  by  greener  hills 

Been  soothed,  in  all  my  wanderings. 

And,  through  her  depths,  Saint  Mary's  Lake 

Ls  visibly  delighted  ; 

For  not  a  feature  of  those  hills  ^5 

Is  in  the  mirror  slighted. 

1  For  the  account  of  these  long-lived  trees,  see  Pliny's  Nahiral  History, 
lib.  xvi.  cap.  44 ;  and  for  the  features  in  the  character  of  Protesilaus,  see 
the  Iphigenia  in  Aulis  of  Euripides.  Virgil  places  the  Shade  of  Lao- 
damia  in  a  jnoumful  region,  among  unhappy  Lovers, 

" His  Laodamia, 

It  comes. " 


252  VAA'A'OIF   VISITED. 

A  blue  sky  bends  o'er  Yarrow  vale, 

Save  where  that  pearly  whiteness 

Is  round  the  rising  sun  diffused, 

A  tender  hazy  brightness  ;  20 

Mild  dawn  of  promise  !  that  excludes 

All  profitless  dejection  ; 

Though  not  unwilling  here  to  admit 

A  pensive  recollection. 

Where  was  it  that  the  famous  Flower  25 

Of  Yarrow  Vale  lay  bleeding? 

His  bed  perchance  was  yon  smooth  mound 

On  which  the  herd  is  feeding  : 

And  haply  from  this  crystal  pool, 

Now  peaceful  as  the  morning,  30 

The  Water-wraith  ascended  thrice  — 

And  gave  his  doleful  warning. 

Delicious  is  the  Lay  that  sings 

The  haunts  of  happy  Lovers, 

The  path  that  leads  them  to  the  grove,  35 

The  leafy  grove  that  covers  : 

And  Pity  sanctifies  the  Verse 

That  paints,  by  strength  of  sorrow, 

The  unconquerable  strength  of  love  ; 

Bear  witness,  rueful  Yarrow  !  40 

But  thou,  that  didst  appear  so  fair 

To  fond  imagination, 

Dost  rival  in  the  light  of  day 

Her  delicate  creation  : 

Meek  loveliness  is  round  thee  spread,  45 

A  softness  still  and  holy  ;  , 

The  grace  of  forest  charms  decayed, 

And  pastoral  melancholy. 


YARJWIV   VISITED.  253 

That  region  left,  the  vale  unfolds 

Rich  groves  of  lofty  stature,  50 

With  Yarrow  winding  through  the  pomp 

Of  cultivated  nature  ; 

And,  rising  from  those  lofty  groves, 

Behold  a  Ruin  hoary  ! 

The  shattered  front  of  Newark's  Towers,  55 

Renowned  in  Border  story. 

Fair  scenes  for  childhood's  opening  bloom, 

For  sportive  youth  to  stray  in  ; 

For  manhood  to  enjoy  his  strength  ; 

And  age  to  w'ear  away  in  !  60 

Yon  cottage  seems  a  bower  of  bliss, 

A  covert  for  protection 

Of  tender  thoughts,  that  nestle  there  — 

The  brood  of  chaste  affection. 

How  sweet,  on  this  autumnal  day,  65 

The  wild-wood  fruits  to  gather. 

And  on  my  True-love's  forehead  plant 

A  crest  of  blooming  heather  ! 

And  what  if  I  enwreathed  my  own  ! 

'Twere  no  offence  to  reason  ;  70 

The  sober  Hills  thus  deck  their  brows 

To  meet  the  wintry  season. 

I  see  —  but  not  by  sight  alone, 

Loved  Yarrow,  have  I  won  thee  ; 

A  ray  of  fancy  still  survives —  75 

Her  sunshine  plays  upon  thee  ! 

Thy  ever-youthful  waters  keep 

A  course  of  lively  pleasure  ; 

And  gladsome  notes  my  lips  can  breathe, 

Accordant  to  the  measure.  So 


254  DION. 

The  vapours  linger  round  the  Heights, 

They  melt,  and  soon  must  vanish ; 

One  hour  is  theirs,  nor  more  is  mine  — 

Sad  thought,  which  I  would  banish, 

But  that  I  know,  where'er  I  go,  85 

Thy  genuine  image.  Yarrow  ! 

Will  dwell  with  me  —  to  heighten  joy, 

And  cheer  my  mind  in  sorrow. 

1814. 


DION. 


Serene,  and  fitted  to  embrace. 

Where'er  he  turned,  a  swan-like  grace 

Of  haughtiness  without  pretence, 

And  to  unfold  a  still  magnificence. 

Was  princely  Dion,  in  the  power  5 

And  beauty  of  his  happier  hour. 

And  what  pure  homage  then  did  wait 

On  Dion's  virtues,  while  the  lunar  beam 

Of  Plato's  genius,  from  its  lofty  sphere, 

Fell  round  him  in  the  grove  of  Academe,  10 

Softening  their  inbred  dignity  austere  — 

That  he,  not  too  elate 

With  self-sufficing  solitude, 
But  with  majestic  lowliness  endued, 

Might  in  the  universal  bosom  reign,  15 

And  from  affectionate  observance  gain 
Help,  under  every  change  of  adverse  fate. 


DION.  255 


Five  thousand  warriors  —  O  the  rapturous  day  ! 
Each  crowned  with  flowers,  and  armed  with  spear  and 

shield, 
Or  ruder  weapon  which  their  course  might  yield,  20 

To  Syracuse  advance  in  bright  array. 
Who  leads  them  on  ?  —  The  anxious  people  see 
Long-exiled  Dion,  marching  at  their  head. 
He  also  crowned  with  flowers  of  Sicily, 
And  in  a  white,  far-beaming  corselet  clad  !  25 

Pure  transport  undisturbed  by  doubt  or  fear 
The  gazers  feel ;  and,  rushing  to  the  plain, 
Salute  those  strangers  as  a  holy  train 
Or  blest  procession  (to  the  Immortals  dear) 
That  brought  their  precious  liberty  again.  3° 

Lo !  when  the  gates  are  entered,  on  each  hand, 
Down  the  long  street,  rich  goblets  filled  with  wine 

In  seemly  order  stand, 
On  tables  set,  as  if  for  rights  divine  ;  — 
And,  as  the  great  Deliverer  marches  by,  35 

He  looks  on  festal  ground  with  fruits  bestrown  ; 
And  flowers  are  on  his  person  thrown 

In  boundless  prodigality  ; 
Nor  doth  the  general  voice  abstain  from  prayer, 
Invoking  Dion's  tutelary  care,  4o 

As  if  a  very  Deity  he  were  ! 


Mourn,  hills  and  groves  of  Attica!  and  mourn 

Ilissus,  bending  o'er  thy  classic  urn  ! 

Mourn,  and  lament  for  him  whose  spirit  dreads 

Your  once  sweet  memory,  studious  walks  and  shades  !    45 

For  him  who  to  divinity  aspired, 


256  DION. 

Not  on  the  breath  of  popular  applause, 
But  through  dependence  on  the  sacred  laws 
Framed  in  the  schools  where  Wisdom  dwelt  retired, 
Intent  to  trace  the  ideal  path  of  right  5° 

(More  fair  than  heaven's  broad  causeway  paved  with 

stars) 
Which  Dion  learned  to  measure  with  sublime  delight :  — 
But  He  hath  overleaped  the  eternal  bars  : 
And,  following  guides  whose  craft  holds  no  consent 
With  aught  that  breathes  the  ethereal  element,  55 

Hath  stained  the  robes  of  civil  power  with  blood. 
Unjustly  shed,  though  for  the  public  good. 
Whence  doubts  that  came  too  late,  and  wishes  vain, 
Hollow  excuses,  and  triumphant  pain  ; 
And  oft  his  cogitations  sink  as  low  60 

As,  through  the  abysses  of  a  joyless  heart. 
The  heaviest  plummet  of  despair  can  go  — 
But  whence  that  sudden  check  ?  that  fearful  start ! 

He  hears  an  uncouth  sound  — 

Anon  his  lifted  eyes  65 

Saw,  at  a  long-drawn  gallery's  dusky  bound, 
A  Shape  of  more  than  mortal  size 
And  hideous  aspect,  stalking  round  and  round  ! 

A  woman's  garb  the  Phantom  wore, 

And  fiercely  swept  the  marble  floor,  —  70 

Like  Auster  whirling  to  and  fro, 

His  force  on  Caspian  foam  to  try  ; 
Or  Boreas  when  he  scours  the  snow 
That  skins  the  plains  of  Thessaly, 

Or  when  aloft  on  Majnalus  he  stops  75 

His  flight,  'mid  eddying  pine-tree  tops  ! 


DION.  257 


So,  but  from  toil  less  sign  of  profit  reaping, 
The  sullen  Spectre  to  her  purpose  bowed, 

Sweeping  —  vehemently  sweeping  — 
No  pause  admitted,  no  design  avowed  !  80 

"  Avaunt,  inexplicable  Guest  !  —  avaunt," 
Exclaimed  the  Chieftain  — "  let  me  rather  see 
The  coronal  that  coiling  vipers  make  ; 
The  torch  that  flames  with  many  a  lurid  flake, 
And  the  long  train  of  doleful  pageantry  85 

Which  they  behold,  whom  vengeful  Furies  haunt  ; 
Who,  while  they  struggle  from  the  scourge  to  flee, 
Move  where  the  blasted  soil  is  not  unworn. 
And,  in  their  anguish,  bear  what  other  minds  have 

borne  ! " 

V. 

But  Shapes  that  come  not  at  an  earthly  call,  9° 

Will  not  depart  when  mortal  voices  bid  ; . 

Lords  of  the  visionary  eye  whose  lid, 

Once  raised,  remains  aghast,  and  will  not  fall ! 

Ye  Gods,  thought  He,  that  servile  Implement 

Obeys  a  mystical  intent  !  '      95 

Your  jNIinister  would  brush  away 

The  spots  that  to  my  soul  adhere ; 

But  should  she  labour  night  and  day, 

They  will  not,  cannot  disappear  : 

Whence  angry  pertubations, —  and  that  look  100 

Which  no  Philosophy  can  brook  ! 


Ill-fated  Chief  !  there  are  whose  hopes  are  built 

Upon  the  ruins  of  thy  glorious  name  ; 

Who,  through  the  portal  of  one  moment's  guilt. 


258  THE  SWAN  ON  LOCARNO. 

Pursue  thee  with  their  deadly  aim  !  105 

O  matchless  perfidy  !  portentous  lust 
Of  monstrous  crime  !  —  that  horror-striking  blade, 
Drawn  in  defiance  of  the  Gods,  hath  laid 
The  noble  Syracusan  low  in  dust  ! 

Shuddered  the  walls  —  the  marble  city  wept —  "o 

And  sylvan  places  heaved  a  pensive  sigh  ; 
But  in  calm  peace  the -appointed  Victim  slept, 
As  he  had  fallen  in  magnanimity  ; 
Of  spirit  too  capacious  to  require 

That  Destiny  her  course  should  change  ;  too  just      115 
To  his  own  native  greatness  to  desire 
That  wretched  boon,  days  lengthened  by  mistrust. 
So  were  the  hopeless  troubles,  that  involved 
The  soul  of  Dion,  instantly  dissolved. 
Released  from  life  and  cares  of  princely  state,  120 

He  left  this  moral  grafted  on  his  Fate  ; 
"  Him  only  pleasure  leads,  and  peace  attends, 
Him,  only  him,  the  shield  of  Jove  defends. 
Whose  means  are  fair  and  spotless  as  his  ends." 

1814. 


THE    SWAN   ON    LOCARNO. 

(originally   the    opening    stanza    of    DION.) 

Fair  is  the  Swan,  whose  majesty,  prevailing 

O'er  breezeless  water,  on  Locarno's  lake, 

Bears'him  on  while  proudly  sailing 

He  leaves  behind  a  moon-illumined  wake  : 

Behold  !  the  mantling  spirit  of  reserve 

Fashions  his  neck  into  a  goodly  curve  ; 

An  arch  thrown  back  between  luxuriant  wings 


ODE    TO   LYCORIS. 


'■59 


Of  whitest  garniture,  like  fir-tree  boughs 

To  which,  on  some  unruffled  morning,  clings 

A  flaky  weight  of  winter's  purest  snows  !  lo 

—  Behold  !  —  as  with  a  gushing  impulse  heaves 

That  downy  prow,  and  softly  cleaves 

The  mirror  of  the  crystal  flood, 

Vanish  inverted  hill,  and  shadowy  wood. 

And  pendent  rocks,  where'er,  in  gliding  state,  15 

Winds  the  mute  Creature  without  visible  Mate 

Or  Rival,  save  the  Queen  of  night 

Showering  down  a  silver  light. 

From  heaven,  upon  her  chosen  Favourite  ! 

1816. 


ODE   TO    LYCORIS.     MAY,  1817. 


An  age  hath  been  when  Earth  was  proud 

Of  lustre  too  intense 

To  be  sustained  ;  and  Mortals  bowed 

The  front  in  self-defence. 

Who  f/ien,  if  Dian's  crescent  gleamed,  5 

Or  Cupid's  sparkling  arrow  streamed 

While  on  the  wing  the  Urchin  played, 

Could  fearlessly  approach  the  shade  ? 

—  Enough  for  one  soft  vernal  day, 

If  I,  a  bard  of  ebbing  time,  10 

And  nurtured  in  a  fickle  clime, 

May  haunt  this  horned  bay ; 

Whose  amorous  water  multiplies 

The  flitting  halcyon's  vivid  dyes  ; 

And  smooths  her  liquid  breast  —  to  show  15 

These  swan-like  specks  of  mountain  snow, 


2  6o  ODE    TO   LYCORIS. 

White  as  the  pair  that  slid  along  the  plains 
Of  heaven,  when  Venus  held  the  reins ! 


In  youth  we  love  the  darksome  lawn 

Brushed  by  the  owlet's  wing  ;  20 

Then,  Twilight  is  preferred  to  Dawn, 

And  Autumn  to  the  Spring. 

Sad  fancies  do  we  then  affect, 

In  luxury  of  disrespect 

To  our  own  prodigal  excess  25 

Of  too  familiar  happiness. 

Lycoris  (if  such  name  befit 

Thee,  thee  my  life's  celestial  sign  !) 

When  Nature  marks  the  year's  decline, 

Be  ours  to  welcome  it ;  3° 

Pleased  with  the  harvest  hope  that  runs 

Before  the  path  of  milder  suns ; 

Pleased  while  the  sylvan  world  displays 

Its  ripeness  to  the  feeding  gaze  ; 

Pleased  when  the  sullen  winds  resound  the  knell         35 

Of  the  resplendent  miracle. 


But  something  whispers  to  my  heart 

That,  as  we  downward  tend, 

Lycoris  !  life  requires  an  art 

To  which  our  souls  must  bend  ;  4° 

A  skill  —  to  balance  and  supply  ; 

And,  ere  the  flowing  fount  be  dry, 

As  soon  it  must,  a  sense  to  sip. 

Or  drink,  with  no  fastidious  lip. 

Then  welcome,  above  all,  the  Guest  45 

Whose  smiles,  diffused  o'er  land  and  sea. 


THE   LOA^GEST  DAY.  261 

Seem  to  recall  the  Deity 

Of  youth  into  the  breast : 

May  pensive  Autumn  ne'er  present 

A  claim  to  her  disparagement  !  50 

While  blossoms  and  the  budding  spray 

Inspire  us  in  our  own  decay; 

Still,  as  we  nearer  draw  to  life's  dark  goal, 

Be  hopeful  Spring  the  favourite  of  the  Soul ! 

1817. 


THE    LONGEST   DAY. 

ADDRESSED   TO    MY    DAUGHTER. 

Let  us  quit  the  leafy  arbour, 
And  the  torrent  murmuring  by  ; 
For  the  sun  is  in  his  harbour, 
Weary  of  the  open  sky. 

Evening  now  unbinds  the  fetters  5 

Fashioned  by  the  glowing  light ; 

All  that  breathe  are  thankful  debtors 

To  the  harbinger  of  night. 

Yet  by  some  grave  thoughts  attended 

Eve  renews  her  calm  career  :  10 

For  the  day  that  now  is  ended, 

Is  the  longest  of  the  year. 

Dora !  sport,  as  now  thou  sportest, 

On  this  platform,  light  and  free  ; 

Take  thy  bliss,  while  longest,  shortest,  15 

Are  indifferent  to  thee  ! 


262  THE   LONGEST  DAY. 

Who  would  check  the  happy  feeling 

That  inspires  the  linnet's  song  ? 

Who  would  stop  the  swallow,  wheeling 

On  her  pinions  swift  and  strong?  20 

Yet  at  this  impressive  season, 
Words  which  tendei^ness  can  speak 
From  the  truths  of  homely  reason, 
Might  exalt  the  loveliest  cheek ; 

And,  while  shades  to  shades  succeeding  25 

Steal  the  landscape  from  the  sight, 
I  would  urge  this  moral  pleading, 
Last  forerunner  of  "  Good  night  !  " 

Summer  ebbs  ;  —  each  day  that  follows 

Is  a  reflux  from  on  high,  30 

Tending  to  the  darksome  hollows 

Where  the  frosts  of  winter  lie. 

He  who  governs  the  creation, 

In  his  providence,  assigned 

Such  a  gradual  declination  35 

To  the  life  of  human  kind. 

Yet  we  mark  it  not ;  — fruits  redden. 

Fresh  flowers  blow  as  flowers  have  blown, 

And  the  heart  is  loth  to  deaden 

Hopes  that  she  so  long  hath  known.  40 

Be  thou  wiser,  youthful  Maiden  ! 
And  when  thy  decline  shall  come, 
Let  not  flowers,  or  boughs  fruit-laden. 
Hide  the  knowledge  of  thy  doom. 


THE   LONGEST  DAY.  263 

Now,  even  now,  ere  wrapped  in  slumber,  45 

Fix  thine  eyes  upon  the  sea 

That  absorbs  time,  space,  and  number ; 

Look  thou  to  Eternity  ! 

Follow  thou  the  flowing  river 

On  whose  breast  are  thither  borne  5° 

All  deceived,  and  each  deceiver, 

Through  the  gates  of  night  and  morn  ; 

Through  the  year's  successive  portals  ; 
Through  the  bounds  which  many  a  star 
Marks,  not  mindless  of  frail  mortals  55 

When  his  light  returns  from  far. 

Thus  when  thou  with  Time  hast  travelled 

Toward  the  mighty  gulf  of  things, 

And  the  mazy  stream  unravelled 

With  thy  best  imaginings  ;  60 

Think,  if  thou  on  beauty  leanest, 
Think  how  pitiful  that  stay. 
Did  not  virtue  give  the  meanest 
Charms  superior  to  decay. 

Duty,  like  a  strict  preceptor,  65 

Sometimes  frowns,  or  seems  to  frown  ; 
Choose  her  thistle  for  thy  sceptre, 
While  youth's  roses  are  thy  crown. 

Grasp  it,  —  if  thou  shrink  and  tremble, 

Fairest  damsel  of  the  green,  7° 

Thou  wilt  lack  the  only  symbol 

That  proclaims  a  genuine  queen  ; 


.64  A^  EVENING   OF  SPLENDOUR. 

And  ensures  those  palms  of  honour 

Which  selected  spirits  wear, 

Bending  low  before  the  Donor,  75 

Lord  of  heaven's  unchanging  year ! 

1817. 


COMPOSED    UPON    AN    EVENING    OF    EXTRAOR- 
DINARY   SPLENDOUR    AND    BEAUTY. 


Had  this  effulgence  disappeared 

With  flying  haste,  I  might  ^lave  sent, 

Among  the  speechless  clouds,  a  look 

Of  blank  astonishment ; 

But  'tis  endued  with  power  to  stay,  5 

And  sanctify  one  closing  day, 

That  frail  Mortality  may  see  — 

What  is  ?  — ah  no,  but  what  can  be  ! 

Time  was  when  field  and  watery  cove 

With  modulated  echoes  rang,  10 

While  choirs  of  fervent  Angels  sang 

Their  vespers  in  the  grove  ; 

Or,  crowning,  star-like,  each  some  sovereign  height. 

Warbled,  for  heaven  above  and  earth  below. 

Strains  suitable  to  both. —  Such  holy  rite,  15 

Methinks,  if  audibly  repeated  now 

From  hill  or  valley,  could  not  move 

Sublimer  transport,  purer  love. 

Than  doth  this  silent  spectacle  —  the  gleam  — 

The  shadow  —  and  the  peace  supreme  !  20 


AN  EVENING   OE  SPLENDOUR.  265 


No  sound  is  uttered,  —  but  a  deep 

And  solemn  harmony  pervades 

The  hollow  vale  from  steep  to  steep, 

And  penetrates  the  glades. 

Far-distant  images  draw  nigh,  25 

Called  forth  by  wondrous  potency 

Of  beamy  radiance,  that  imbues 

Whate'er  it  strikes,  with  gem-like  hues ! 

In  vision  exquisitely  clear, 

Herds  range  along  the  mountain  side  ;  3° 

And  glistening  antlers  are  descried  ; 

And  gilded  Hocks  appear. 

Thine  is  the  tranquil  hour,  purpureal  Eve  ! 

But  long  as  god-like  wish,  or  hope  divine, 

Informs  my  spirit,  ne'er  can  I  believe  35 

That  this  magnificence  is  wholly  thine ! 

—  From  worlds  not  quickened  by  the  sun 

A  portion  of  the  gift  is  won  ; 

An  intermingling  of  Heaven's  pomp  is  spread 

On  ground  which  British  shepherds  tread !  4° 


And,  if  there  be  whom  broken  ties 

Afflict,  or  injuries  assail. 

Yon  hazy  ridges  to  their  eyes 

Present  a  glorious  scale. 

Climbing  suffused  with  sunny  air,  45 

To  stop  —  no  record  hath  told  where  ! 

And  tempting  Fancy  to  ascend, 

And  with  immortal  Spirits  blend  ! ' 

—  Wings  at  my  shoulders  seem  to  play  ; 

1  See  Note. 


266  AN  EVENING   OF  SPLENDOUR. 

But,  rooted  here,  I  stand  and  gaze  50 

On  those  bright  steps  that  heavenward  raise 

Their  practicable  way. 

Come  forth,  ye  drooping  old  men,  look  abroad, 

And  see  to  what  fair  countries  ye  are  bound  ! 

And  if  some  traveller,  weary  of  his  road,  55 

Hath  slept  since  noon-tide  on  the  grassy  ground, 

Ye  Genii !  to  his  covert  speed  ; 

And  wake  him  with  such  gentle  heed 

As  may  attune  his  soul  to  meet  the  dower 

Bestowed  on  this  transcendent  hour  !  60 


Such  hues  from  their  celestial  Urn 

Were  wont  to  stream  before  mine  eye, 

Where'er  it  wandered  in  the  morn 

Of  blissful  infancy. 

This  glimpse  of  glory,  why  renewed  ?  65 

Nay,  rather  speak  with  gratitude  ; 

For,  if  a  vestige  of  those  gleams 

Survived,  't  was  only  in  my  dreams. 

Dread  Power  !  whom  peace  and  calmness  serve 

No  less  than  Nature's  threatening  voice,  7° 

If  aught  unworthy  be  my  choice, 

From  Thee  if  I  would  swerve  ; 

Oh,  let  thy  grace  remind  me  of  the  light 

Full  early  lost,  and  fruitlessly  deplored  ; 

Which,  at  this  moment,  on  my  waking  sight  75 

Appears  to  shine,  by  miracle  restored  ; 

My  soul,  though  yet  confined  to  earth. 

Rejoices  in  a  second  birth ! 

—  'Tis  past,  the  visionary  splendour  fades  ; 

And  night  approaches  with  her  shades.  80 

1818. 


SEPTEMBER,  i8/g.  267 

Note.  —  The  multiplication  of  mountain-ridges,  described  at  the 
commencement  of  the  third  Stanza  of  this  Ode,  as  a  kind  of  Jacob's 
Ladder,  leading  to  Heaven,  is  produced  either  by  watery  vapours,  or 
sunny  haze  ;  —  in  the  present  instance  by  the  latter  cause.  Allusions 
to  the  Ode,  entitled  "  Intimations  of  Immortality,"  pervade  the  last 
stanza  of  the  foregoing  Poem. 


SEPTEMBER,    1819. 

The  sylvan  slopes  with  corn-clad  fields 

Are  hung,  as  if  with  golden  shields, 

Bright  trophies  of  the  sun  ! 

Like  a  fair  sister  of  the  sky. 

Unruffled  doth  the  blue  lake  lie,  5 

The  mountains  looking  on. 

And,  sooth  to  say,  yon  vocal  grove. 

Albeit  uninspired  by  love. 

By  love  untaught  to  ring. 

May  well  afford  to  mortal  ear  10 

An  impulse  more  profoundly  dear 

Than  music  of  the  Spring. 

For  that  from  turbulence  and  heat 

Proceeds,  from  some  uneasy  seat 

In  nature's  struggling  frame,  15 

Some  region  of  impatient  life  : 

And  jealousy,  and  quivering  strife. 

Therein  a  portion  claim. 

This,  this  is  holy  ;  —  while  I  hear 

These  vespers  of  another  year,  20 

This  hymn  of  thanks  and  praise, 


268  UPON    THE   SAME    OCCASION. 

My  spirit  seems  to  mount  above 
The  anxieties  of  human  love, 
And  earth's  precarious  days. 

But  list  !  —  though  winter  storms  be  nigh,  25 

Unchecked  is  that  soft  harmony  : 

There  lives  Who  can  provide 

For  all  his  creatures  ;  and  in  Him, 

Even  like  the  radiant  Seraphim, 

These  choristers  confide.  30 


UPON   THE    SAME    OCCASION. 

Departing  summer  hath  assumed 

An  aspect  tenderly  illumed. 

The  gentlest,  look  of  spring  ; 

That  calls  from  yonder  leafy  shade 

Unfaded,  yet  prepared  to  fade,  5 

A  timely  carolling. 

No  faint  and  hesitating  trill. 

Such  tribute  as  to  winter  chill 

The  lonely  redbreast  pays  ! 

Clear,  loud,  and  lively  is  the  din,  10 

From  social  warblers  gathering  in 

Their  harvest  of  sweet  lays. 

Nor  doth  the  example  fail  to  cheer 

Me,  conscious  that  my  leaf  is  sere. 

And  yellow  on  the  bough  :  —  15 

Fall,  rosy  garlands,  from  my  head  ! 

Ye  myrtle  wreaths,  your  fragrance  shed 

Around  a  younger  brow  ! 


UPON    THE    SAME    OCCASJOiV.  269 

Yet  will  I  temperately  rejoice  ; 

Wide  is  the  range,  and  free  the  choice  20 

Of  undiscordant  themes  ; 

Which,  haply,  kindred  souls  may  prize 

Not  less  than  vernal  ecstasies, 

And  passion's  feverish  dreams. 

f^or  deathless  powers  to  verse  belong,  25 

x4nd  they  like  Demi-gods  are  strong 

On  whom  the  Muses  smile  ; 

But  some  their  function  have  disclaimed. 

Best  pleased  with  what  is  aptliest  framed 

To  enervate  and  defile.  30 

Not  such  the  initiatory  strains 

Committed  to  the  silent  plains 

In  Britain's  earliest  dawn  : 

Trembled  the  groves,  the  stars  grew  pale, 

While  all-too-daringly  the  veil  35 

Of  nature  was  withdrawn  I 

Nor  such  the  spirit-stirring  note 

When  the  live  chords  Alca^us  smote, 

Inflamed  by  sense  of  wrong  ; 

Woe  !  woe  to  Tyrants  !  from  the  lyre  40 

Broke  threateningly,  in  sparkles  dire 

Of  fierce  vindictive  song. 

And  not  unhallowed  was  the  page 

By  winged  Love  inscribed,  to  assuage 

The  pangs  of  vain  pursuit  ;  45 

Love  listening  while  the  Lesbian  Maid 

With  finest  touch  of  passion  swayed 

Her  own  ^-Eolian  lute. 


270  TO    THE   REV.    DR.    WORDSWORTH. 

O  ye,  who  patiently  explore 

The  wreck  of  Herculanean  lore,  5° 

What  rapture  !  could  ye  seize 

Some  Theban  fragment,  or  unroll 

One  precious,  tender-hearted  scroll, 

Of  pure  Simonides. 

That  were,  indeed  a  genuine  birth  55 

Of  poesy  ;  a  bursting  forth 
Of  genius  from  the  dust : 
What  Horace  gloried  to  behold, 
What  Maro  loved,  shall  we  enfold? 
Can  haughty  Time  be  just  1  60 

1819. 


TO   THE    REV.    DR.    WORDSWORTH. 

(WITH    THE    SONNETS   TO    THE    RIVER    DUDDON,  AND    OTHER    POEMS 
IN    THIS    COLLECTION,    182O.) 

The  Minstrels  played  their  Christmas  tune 
To-night  beneath  my  cottage-eaves  ; 
While,  smitten  by  a  lofty  moon. 
The  encircling  laurels,  thick  with  leaves, 
Gave  back  a  rich  and  dazzling  sheen. 
That  overpowered  their  natural  green. 

Through  hill  and  valley  every  breeze 

Had  sunk  to  rest  with  folded  wings  : 

Keen  was  the  air,  but  could  not  freeze. 

Nor  check,  the  music  of  the  strings  ; 

So  stout  and  hardy  were  the  band 

That  scraped  the  chords  with  strenuous  hand  ; 


TO    THE   REV.    DR.    WORDSWORTH. 


271 


And  who  but  listened  ?  ■ —  till  was  paid 

Respect  to  every  Inmate's  claim  : 

The  greeting  given,  the  music  played,  15 

In  honour  of  each  household  name, 

Duly  pronounced  with  lusty  call. 

And  "merry  Christmas"  wished  to  all! 

O  Brother  !   I  revere  the  choice 

That  took  thee  from  thy  native  hills  ;  20 

And  it  is  given  thee  to  rejoice  :" 

Though  public  care  full  often  tills 

(Heaven  only  witness  of  the  toil) 

A  barren  and  ungrateful  soil. 

Yet,  would  that  Thou,  with  me  and  mine,  25 

Hadst  heard  this  never-failing  rite  ; 

And  seen  on  other  faces  shine 

A  true  revival  of  the  light 

Which  Nature  and  these  rustic  Powers, 

In  simple  childhood,  spread  through  ours.  3° 

For  pleasure  hath  not  ceased  to  wait 

On  these  expected  annual  rounds  ; 

Whether  the  rich  man's  sumptuous  gate 

Call  forth  the  unelaborate  sounds, 

Or  they  are  offered  at  the  door  35 

That  guards  the  lowliest  of  the  poor. 

How  touching,  when  at  midnight,  sweep 

Snow-muffled  winds,  and  all  is  dark, 

To  hear  —  and  sink  again  to  sleep  ! 

Or,  at  an  earlier  call,  to  mark,  4° 

By  blazing  fire,  the  still  suspense 

Of  self-complacent  innocence  ; 


TO    THE   REV.    DR.    WORDSWORTH. 

The  mutual  nod,  —  the  grave  disguise 

Of  hearts  with  gladness  brimming  o'er  ; 

And  some  unbidden  tears  that  rise  45 

For  names  once  heard,  and  heard  no  more  ; 

Tears  brightened  by  the  serenade 

For  infant  in  the  cradle  laid. 

Ah  !  not  for  emerald  fields  alone. 

With  ambient  streams  more  pure  and  bright  50 

Than  fabled  Cytherea's  zone 

Glittering  before  the  Thunderer's  sight, 

Is  to  my  heart  of  hearts  endeared 

The  ground  where  we  were  born  and  reared  ! 

Hail,  ancient  Manners  !  sure  defence,  55 

Where  they  survive,  of  wholesome  laws  ; 

Remnants  of  love  whose  modest  sense 

Thus  into  narrow  room  withdraws  ; 

Hail,  Usages  of  pristine  mould. 

And  ye  that  guard  them.  Mountains  old  !  60 

Bear  with  me,  Brother  !  quench  the  thought 

That  slights  this  passion,  or  condemns ; 

If  thee  fond  Fancy  ever  brought 

From  the  proud  margin  of  the  Thames, 

And  Lambeth's  venerable  towers,  65 

To  humbler  streams,  and  greener  bowers. 

Yes,  they  can  make,  who  fail  to  find. 

Short  leisure  even  in  busiest  days  ; 

Moments,  to  cast  a  look  behind, 

And  profit  by  those  kindly  rays  70 

That  through  the  clouds  do  sometimes  steal, 

And  all  the  far-off  past  reveal. 


TO    THE   LADY  FLEMING.  273 

Hence,  while  the  imperial  City's  din 

Beats  frequent  on  thy  satiate  ear, 

A  pleased  attention  I  may  win  75 

To  agitations  less  severe, 

That  neither  overwhelm  nor  cloy. 

But  fill  the  hollow  vale  with  joy  ! 


TO    THE    LADY    FLEMING. 

ON    SEEING   THE   FOUNDATION    PREPARING    FOR   THE   ERECTION    OF 
RYDAL   CHAPEL,    WESTMORELAND. 


Blest  is  this  Isle  —  our  native  Land  ; 
Where  battlement  and  moated  gate 
Are  objects  only  for  the  hand 
Of  hoary  Time  to  decorate  ; 
Where  shady  hamlet,  town  that  breathe.^ 
Its  busy  smoke  in  social  wreaths. 
No  rampart's  stern  defence  require. 
Nought  but  the  heaven-directed  spire. 
And  steeple  tower  (with  pealing  bells 
Far-heard)  —  our  only  citadels. 


O  Lady  !  from  a  noble  line 

Of  chieftains  sprung,  who  stoutly  bore 

The  spear,  yet  gave  to  works  divine 

A  bounteous  help  in  days  of  yore, 

(As  records  mouldering  in  the  Dell  if 

Of  Nightshade^  haply  yet  may  tell) 

^  Bekangs  Ghyll  —  or  the  Dell  of  Nightshade  —  in  which  stands 
St.  Mary's  Abbey  in  Low  Furness. 


2  74  ^<^    ^-^^    LADY  FLEMING. 

Thee  kindred  aspirations  moved 
To  build,  within  a  vale  beloved, 
For  Him  upon  whose  high  behests 
All  peace  depends,  all  safety  rests. 


How  fondly  will  the  woods  embrace 

This  daughter  of  thy  pious  care. 

Lifting  her  front  with  modest  grace 

To  make  a  fair  recess  more  fair ; 

And  to  exalt  the  passing  hour  ;  25 

Or  soothe  it  with  a  healing  power 

Drawn  from  the  Sacrifice  fulfilled. 

Before  this  rugged  soil  was  tilled, 

Or  human  habitation  rose 

To  interrupt  the  deep  repose  !  30 


Well  may  the  villagers  rejoice  i 

Nor  heat,  nor  cold,  nor  weary  ways, 

Will  be  a  hindrance  to  the  voice 

That  would  unite  in  prayer  and  praise  ; 

More  duly  shall  wild  wandering  Youth  35 

Receive  the  curb  of  sacred  truth, 

Shall  tottering  Age,  bent  earthward,  hear 

The  Promise,  with  uplifted  ear  ; 

And  all  shall  welcome  the  new  ray 

Imparted  to  their  sabbath-day.  40 


Nor  deem  the  Poet's  hope*  misplaced, 
His  fancy  cheated  —  that  can  see 
A  shade  upon  the  future  cast, 
Of  time's  pathetic  sanctity  ; 


TO    THE   LADY  FLEMING.  275 

Can  hear  the  monitory  clock  45 

Sound  o'er  the  lake  with  gentle  shock 

At  evening,  when  the  ground  beneath 

Is  ruffled  o'er  with  cells  of  death  ; 

Where  happy  generations  lie, 

Here  tutored  for  eternity.  50 


Lives  there  a  man  whose  sole  delights 

Are  trivial  pomp  and  city  noise, 

Hardening  a  heart  that  loathes  or  slights 

What  every  natural  heart  enjoys  ? 

Who  never  caught  a  noon-tide  dream  55 

From  murmur  of  a  running  stream  ; 

Could  strip,  for  aught  the  prospect  yields 

To  him,  their  verdure  from  the  fields  : 

And  take  the  radiance  from  the  clouds 

In  which  the  sun  his  setting  shrouds.  60 


A  soul  so  pitiably  forlorn. 

If  such  do  on  this  earth  abide. 

May  season  apathy  with  scorn. 

May  turn  indifference  to  pride; 

And  still  be  not  unblest — compared  65 

W^ith  him  who  grovels,  self-debarred 

From  all  that  lies  within  the  scope 

Of  holy  faith  and  christian  hope  ; 

Or,  shipwrecked,  kindles  on  the  coast 

False  fires,  that  others  may  be  lost.  7° 


Alas  !  that  such  perverted  zeal 

Should  spread  on  Britain's  favoured  ground  1 


276  TO    THE   LADY  FLEMING. 

That  public  order,  private  weal, 

Should  e'er  have  felt  or  feared  a  wound 

From  champions  of  the  desperate  law  75 

Which  from  their  own  blind  hearts  they  draw; 

Who  tempt  their  reason  to  deny 

God,  whom  their  passions  dare  defy, 

And  boast  that  they  alone  are  free 

Who  reach  this  dire  extremity !  80 


But  turn  we  from  these  "  bold  bad  "  men  ; 

The  way,  mild  Lady !  that  hath  led 

Down  to  their  "dark  opprobrious  den," 

Is  all  too  rough  for  Thee  to  tread. 

Softly  as  morning  vapours  glide  85 

Down  Rydal-cove  from  Fairfield's  side. 

Should  move  the  tenor  of  his  song 

Who  means  to  charity  no  wrong  ; 

Whose  offering  gladly  would  accord 

With  this  day's  work,  in  thought  and  word.  90 


Heaven  prosper  it  !  may  peace,  and  love. 
And  hope,  and  consolation,  fall. 
Through  its  meek  influence,  from  above. 
And  penetrate  the  hearts  of  all ; 
All  who,  around  the  hollowed  Fane,  95 

Shall  sojourn  in  this  fair  domain  ; 
Grateful  to  Thee,  while  service  pure. 
And  ancient  ordinance,  shall  endure, 
For  opportunity  bestowed 

To  kneel  together,  and  adore  their  God !  loo 

1823. 


MA  CPHEKSON'S   OSS  I  A  N. 


TO 


277 


O  DEARER  far  than  light  and  Ufe  are  dear, 
Full  oft  our  human  foresight  I  deplore  ; 
Trembling,  through  my  unworthiness,  with  fear 
That  friends,  by  death  disjoined,  may  meet  no  more  ! 

Misgivings,  hard  to  vanquish  or  control,  5 

Mix  with  the  day,  and  cross  the  hour  of  rest  ; 
While  all  the  future,  for  thy  purer  soul. 
With  "  sober  certainties  "  of  love  is  blest. 

That  sigh  of  thine,  not  meant  for  human  ear, 

Tells  that  these  words  thy  humbleness  offend  ;  'o 

Yet  bear  me  up  —  else  faltering  in  the  rear 

Of  a  steep  march  :  support  me  to  the  end. 

Peace  settles  where  the  intellect  is  meek, 
And  Love  is  dutiful  in  thought  and  deed  ; 
Through  Thee  communion  with  that  Love  I  seek  :       15 
The  faith  Heaven  strengthens  where  he  moulds  the 
Creed.      •  ,824. 


WRITTEN    IN    A    BLANK    LEAF   OF    MACPHERSON'S 
OSSIAN. 

Oft  have  I  caught,  upon  a  fitful  breeze. 
Fragments  of  far-off  melodies, 
With  ear  not  coveting  the  whole, 
A  part  so  charmed  the  pensive  soul. 
While  a  dark  storm  before  my  sight 
Was  yielding,  on  a  mountain  height 
Loose  vapours  have  I  watched,  that  won 
Prismatic  colours  from  the  sun  ; 


278  MACPHERSON'S   OSS  I  AN. 

Nor  felt  a  wish  that  heaven  would  show 

The  image  of  its  perfect  bow.  10 

What  need,  then,  of  these  finished  Strains  ? 

Away  with  counterfeit  Remains  ! 

An  abbey  in  its  lone  recess, 

A  temple  of  the  wilderness, 

Wrecks  though  they  be,  announce  with  feeling         '5 

The  majesty  of  honest  dealing. 

Spirit  of  Ossian  !  if  imbound 

In  language  thou  may'st  yet  be  found. 

If  aught  (intrusted  to  the  pen 

Or  floating  on  the  tongues  of  men,  20 

Albeit  shattered  and  impaired) 

Subsist  thy  dignity  to  guard, 

In  concert  with  memorial  claim 

Of  old  grey  stone,  and  high-born  name 

That  cleaves  to  rock  or  pillared  cave  25 

Where  moans  the  blast,  or  beats  the  wave, 

Let  Truth,  stern  arbitress  of  all,    . 

Interpret  that  Original, 

And  for  presumptuous  wrongs  atone ;  — 

Authentic  words  be  given,  or  none  !  3° 

Time  is  not  blind  ;  —  yet  He,  who  spares 
Pyramid  pointing  to  the  stars. 
Hath  preyed  with  ruthless  appetite 
On  all  that  marked  the  primal  flight 
Of  the  poetic  ecstasy  35 

Into  the  land  of  mystery. 
No  tongue  is  able  to  rehearse 
One  measure,  Orpheus  !  of  thy  verse  ; 
Musaeus,  stationed  with  his  lyre 

Supreme  among  the  Elysian  quire,  40 

Is.  for  the  dwellers  upon  earth. 
Mute  as  a  lark  e'er  morning's  birth. 


MA  CFHERSOxV  'S   OSSIAN. 


279 


Why  grieve  for  these,  though  past  away 

The  music,  and  extinct  the  lay  ? 

When  thousands,  by  severer  doom,  45 

Full  early  to  the  silent  tomb 

Have  sunk,  at  Nature's  call ;  or  strayed 

From  hope  and  promise,  self-betrayed  ; 

The  garland  withering  on  their  brows  ; 

Stung  with  remorse  for  broken  vows ;  50 

Frantic  —  else  how  might  they  rejoice  ? 

And  friendless,  by  their  own  sad  choice  ! 

Hail,  Bards  of  mightier  grasp  !  on  you 
I  chiefly  call,  the  chosen  Few, 

Who  cast  not  off  the  acknowledged  guide,  55 

Who  faltered  not,  nor  turned  aside  ; 
Whose  lofty  genius  could  survive 
Privation,  under  sorrow  thrive  ; 
In  whom  the  fiery  Muse  revered 

The  symbol  of  a  snow-white  beard,  60 

Bedewed  with  meditative  tears 
Dropped  from  the  lenient  cloud  of  years. 

Brothers  in  soul  !  though  distant  times 
Produced  you  nursed  in  various  climes, 
Ye,  when  the  orb  of  life  had  waned,  65 

A  plenitude  of  love  retained  : 
Hence,  while  in  you  each  sad  regret 
By  corresponding  hope  was  met. 
Ye  lingered  among  human  kind. 

Sweet  voices  for  the  passing  wind,  7° 

Departing  sunbeams,  loth  to  stop. 
Though  smiling  on  the  last  hill  top  ! 
Such  to  the  tender-hearted  maid 
Even  ere  her  joys  begin  to  fade  ; 
Such,  haply,  to  the  rugged  chief  75 

By  fortune  crushed,  or  tamed  by  grief  ; 


28o  TO   A    SKY-LAKK. 

Appears,  on  Morven's  lonely  shore, 

Dim-gleaming  through  imperfect  lore, 

The  Son  of  Fingal  ;  such  was  blind 

Maeonides  of  ampler  mind  ;  So 

Such  Milton,  to  the  fountain  head 

Of  glory  by  Urania  led  !  1824. 


TO    A    SKY- LARK. 

Ethereal  minstrel  !  pilgrim  of  the  sky  ! 
Dost  thou  despise  the  earth  where  cares  abound  ? 
Or,  while  the  wings  aspire,  are  heart  and  eye 
Both  with  thy  nest  upon  the  dewy  ground  ? 
Thy  nest  which  thou  canst  drop  into  at  will. 
Those  quivering  wings  composed,  that  music  still  ! 

Leave  to  the  nightingale  her  shady  wood  ; 
A  privacy  of  glorious  light  is  thine  ; 
Whence  thou  dost  pour  upon  the  world  a  Hood 
Of  harmony,  with  instinct  more  divine  ; 
Type  of  the  wise  who  soar,  but  never  roam  ; 
True  to  the  kindred  points  of  Heaven  and  Home  ! 

1825. 


"THE    DAISY    SLEEPS."! 

(a  fragment.) 

The  daisy  sleeps  upon  the  dewy  lawn. 
Not  lifting  yet  the  head  that  evening  bowed  ; 
But  He  is  risen,  a  later  star  of  dawn. 
Glittering  and  twinkling  near  yon  rosy  cloud  ; 

1  See  Note,  p.  476. 


"THE    DAISY  SLEEFSr  281 

Bright  gem  instinct  with  music,  vocal  spark  ;  5 

The  happiest  bird  that  sprang  out  of  the  Ark  ! 

Hail,  blest  above  all  kinds  !  —  Supremely  skilled 
Restless  with  fixed  to  balance,  high  with  low, 
Thou  leav'st  the  halcyon  free  her  hopes  to  build 
On  such  forbearance  as  the  deep  may  show ;  10 

Perpetual  flight,  unchecked  by  earthly  ties, 
Leav'st  to  the  wandering  bird  of  paradise. 

Faithful,  though  swift  as  lightning,  the  meek  dove  ; 
Yet  more  hath  Nature  reconciled  in  thee  ; 
So  constant  with  thy  downward  eye  of  love,  15 

Yet,  in  aerial  singleness,  so  free ; 
So  humble,  yet  so  ready  to  rejoice 
In  power  of  wing  and  never-wearied  voice. 

To  the  last  point  of  vision,  and  beyond, 
Mount,  daring  warbler  !  — that  love-prompted  strain,      20 
('Twixt  thee  and  thine  a  never-failing  bond) 
Thrills  not  the  less  the  bosom  of  the  plain  : 
Yet  might' st  thou  seem,  proud  privilege  !  to  sing 
All  independent  of  the  leafy  spring. 

How  would  it  please  old  Ocean  to  partake,  25 

With  sailors  longing  for  a  breeze  in  vain, 
The  harmony  thy  notes  most  gladly  make 
Where  earth  resembles  most  his  own  domain  ! 
Urania's  self  might  welcome  with  pleased  ear 
These  matins  mounting  towards  her  native  sphere.  3° 

Chanter  by  heaven  attracted,  whom  no  bars 
To  day-light  known  deter  from  that  pursuit, 
'Tis  well  that  some  sage  instinct,  when  the  stars 


TO   MAY. 


Come  forth  at  evening,  keeps  Thee  still  and  mute  •, 

For  not  an  eyelid  could  to  sleep  incline  35 

Wert  thou  among  them,  singing  as  they  shine  ! 


1S2S. 


TO    MAY. 


Though  many  suns  have  risen  and  set 

Since  thou,  blithe  May,  wert  born. 
And  Bards,  who  hailed  thee,  may  forget 

Thy  gifts,  thy  beauty  scorn  ; 
There  are  who  to  a  birthday  strain 

Confine  not  harp  and  voice. 
But  evermore  throughout  thy  reign 

Are  grateful  and  rejoice  ! 

Delicious  odours  !  music  sweet, 

Too  sweet  to  pass  away  ! 
Oh  for  a  deathless  song  to  meet 

The  soul's  desire  —  a  lay 
That,  when  a  thousand  years  are  told, 

Should  praise  thee,  genial  Power  ! 
Through  summer  heat,  autumnal  cold, 

And  winter's  dreariest  hour. 

Earth,  sea,  thy  presence  feel,  —  nor  less. 

If  yon  ethereal  blue 
With  its  soft  smile  the  truth  express, 

The  heavens  have  felt  it  too. 
The  inmost  heart  of  man  if  glad 

Partakes  a  livelier  cheer  ; 
And  eyes  that  cannot  but  be  sad 

Let  fall  a  brightened  tear. 


TO   MAY. 


283 


Since  thy  return,  through  days  and  weeks  25 

Of  hope  that  grew  by  stealth, 
How  many  wan  and  faded  cheeks 

Have  kindled  into  health  ! 
The  Old  by  thee  revived,  have  said, 

"  Another  year  is  ours  "  ;  3° 

And  wayworn  Wanderers,  poorly  fed 

Have  smiled  upon  thy  flowers. 

Who  tripping  lisps  a  merry  song 

Amid  his  playful  peers  ? 
The  tender  Infant  who  was  long  35 

A  prisoner  of  fond  fears  ; 
But  now,  when  every  sharp-edged  blast 

Is  quiet  in  its  sheath. 
His  Mother  leaves  him  free  to  taste 

Earth's  sweetness  in  thy  breath.  4° 

Thy  help  is  with  the  weed  that  creeps 

Along  the  humblest  ground  ; 
No  cliff  so  bare  but  on  its  steeps 

Thy  favours  may  be  found  ; 
But  most  on  some  peculiar  nook  45 

That  our  own  hands  have  drest, 
Thou  and  thy  train  are  proud  to  look, 

And  seem  to  love  it  best. 

And  yet  how  pleased  we  wander  forth 

When  May  is  whispering,  "  Come  !  5° 

"  Choose  from  the  bowers  of  virgin  earth 

"  The  happiest  for  your  home  ; 
"Heaven's  bounteous  love  through  me  is  spread 

"  From  sunshine,  clouds,  winds,  waves, 
"  Drops  on  the  mouldering  turret's  head,  55 

"'  And  on  your  turf-clad  graves  !  " 


284  TO  MAY. 

Such  greeting  heard,  away  with  sighs 

For  lilies  that  must  fade, 
Or  "  the  rathe  primrose  as  it  dies 

Forsaken  "  in  the  shade  !  60 

Vernal  fruitions  and  desires 

Are  linked  in  endless  chase  ; 
While,  as  one  kindly  growth  retires, 

Another  takes  its  place. 

And  what  if  thou,  sweet  May,  hast  known,  65 

Mishap  by  worm  and  blight ; 
If  expectations  newly  blown 

Have  perished  in  thy  sight ; 
If  loves  and  joys,  while  up  they  sprung, 

Were  caught  as  in  a  snare  ;  70 

Such  is  the  lot  of  all  the  young. 

However  bright  and  fair. 

Lo !  Streams  that  April  could  not  check 

Are  patient  of  thy  rule  ; 
Gurgling  in  foamy  water-break,  75 

Loitering  in  glassy  pool  ; 
By  thee,  thee  only,  could  be  sent 

Such  gentle  mists  as  glide. 
Curling  with  unconfirmed  intent. 

On  that  green  mountain's  side.  80 

How  delicate  the  leafy  veil 

Through  which  yon  house  of  God 
Gleams,  mid  the  peace  of  this  deep  dale 

By  few  but  shepherds  trod  ! 
And  lowly  huts,  near  beaten  ways,  85 

No  sooner  stand  attired 
In  thy  fresh  wreaths,  than  they  for  praise 

Peep  forth,  and  are  admired. 


THE    VVISHING-GA  TE. 


28s 


Season  of  fancy  and  of  hope. 

Permit  not  for  one  hour,  90 

A  blossom  from  thy  crown  to  drop, 

Nor  add  to  it  a  flower  ! 
Keep,  lovely  May,  as  if  by  touch 

Of  self-restraining  art, 

This  modest  charm  of  not  too  much,  95 

Part  seen,  imagined  part ! 

1826-1834. 


THE    WISHING-GATE. 

In  the  vale  of  Grasmere,  by  the  side  of  the  old  high-way  leading  to  Amble- 
side, is  a  gate,  which,  time  out  of  mind,  has  been  called  the  Wishing-gate, 
from  a  belief  that  wishes  formed  or  indulged  there  have  a  favourable  issue. 

Hope  rules  a  land  forever  green  : 

All  powers  that  serve  the  bright-eyed  Queen 

Are  confident  and  gay  ; 
Clouds  at  her  bidding  disappear  ; 
Points  she  to  aught  ?  —  the  bliss  draws  near,  5 

And  Fancy  smooths  the  way. 

Not  such  the  land  of  Wishes  —  there 
Dwell  fruitless  day-dreams,  lawless  prayer. 

And  thoughts  with  things  at  strife; 
Yet  how  forlorn,  should  ye  depart  10 

Ye  superstitions  of  the  heart, 

How  poor,  were  human  life  ! 

When  magic  lore  abjured  its  might, 
Ye  did  not  forfeit  one  dear  right. 

One  tender  claim  abate  ;  15 


286  THE    WISHING-GATE. 

Witness  this  symbol  of  your  sway, 
Surviving  near  the  public  way 
The  rustic  VVishing-gate  ! 

Inquire  not  if  the  faery  i-ace 

Shed  kindly  influence  on  the  place,  20 

Ere  northward  they  retired  ; 
If  here  a  warrior  left  a  spell, 
Panting  for  glory  as  he  fell ; 

Or  here  a  saint  expired. 

Enough  that  all  around  is  fair,  25 

Composed  with  Nature's  finest  care. 

And  in  her  fondest  love  — 
Peace  to  embosom  and  content  — 
To  overawe  the  turbulent, 

The  selfish  to  reprove.  3° 

Yea !  even  the  Stranger  from  afar, 
Reclining  on  this  moss-grown  bar, 

Unknowing,  and  unknown, 
The  infection  of  the  ground  partakes. 
Longing  for  his  Beloved  —  who  makes  35 

All  happiness  her  own. 

Then  why  should  conscious  Spirits  fear 
The  mystic  stirrings  that  are  here, 

The  ancient  faith  disclaim  ? 
The  local  Genius  ne'er  befriends  4° 

Desires  whose  course  in  folly  ends. 

Whose  just  reward  is  shame. 

Smile  if  thou  wilt,  but  not  in  scorn, 
If  some,  by  ceaseless  pains  outworn, 

Here  crave  an  easier  lot  ;  45 


THE    VVISHTNG-GATE.  287 

If  some  have  thirsted  to  renew 
A  broken  vow,  or  bind  a  true, 
With  firmer,  holier  knot. 

And  not  in  vain,  when  thoughts  are  cast 

Upon  the  irrevocable  past,  5° 

Some  Penitent  sincere 
May  for  a  worthier  future  sigh. 
While  trickles  from  his  downcast  eye 

No  unavailing  tear. 

The  Worldling,  pining  to  be  freed  55 

From  turmoil,  who  would  turn  or  speed 

The  current  of  his  fate, 
Might  stop  before  this  favoured  scene. 
At  Nature's  call,  nor  blush  to  lean 

Upon  the  Wishing-gate.  60 

The  Sage,  who  feels  how  blind,  how  weak 
Is  man,  though  loth  such  help  to  seek, 

Yet,  passing,  here  might  pause, 
And  thirst  for  insight  to  allay 
Misgiving,  while  the  crimson  day  65 

In  quietness  withdraws  ; 

Or  when  the  church-clock's  knell  profound 
To  Time's  first  step  across  the  bound 

Of  midnight  makes  reply  ; 
Time  pressing  on  with  starry  crest,  7° 

To  filial  sleep  upon  the  breast 

Of  dread  eternity. 

1828. 


THE   PRIMROSE    OF  THE    ROCK. 


IN    THESE   FAIR    VALES    HATH    MANY    A  TREE.' 

In  these  fair  vales  hath  many  a  Tree 
At  Wordsworth's  suit  been  spared ; 

And  from  the  builder's  hand  this  Stone, 

For  some  rude  beauty  of  its  own, 
Was  rescued  by  the  Bard  : 

So  let  it  rest ;  and  time  will  come 

When  here  the  tender-hearted 

May  heave  a  gentle  sigh  for  him, 

As  one  of  the  departed. 

1830. 


THE    PRIMROSE    OF  THE   ROCK. 

A  Rock  there  is  whose  homely  front 

The  passing  traveller  slights  ; 
Yet  there  the  glow-worms  hang  their  lamps, 

Like  stars,  at  various  heights  ; 
And  one  coy  Primrose  to  that  Rock  5 

The  vernal  breeze  invites. 

What  hideous  warfare  hath  been  waged, 

What  kingdoms  overthrown, 
Since  first  I  spied  that  Primrose-tuft 

And  marked  it  for  my  own  ;  ro 

A  lasting  link  in  Nature's  chain 

From  highest  heaven  let  down  ! 

The  flowers,  still  faithful  to  the  stems, 

Their  fellowship  renew ; 
The  stems  are  faithful  to  the  root,  15 

That  worketh  out  of  view  : 


THE   PRIMROSE    OF   THE   ROCK.  289 

And  to  the  rock  the  root  adheres 
In  every  fibre  true. 

Close  clings  to  earth  the  living  rock, 

Though  threatening  still  to  fall ;  -  20 

The  earth  is  constant  to  her  sphere  ; 

And  God  upholds  them  all : 
So  blooms  this  lonely  Plant,  nor  dreads 

Her  annual  funeral. 

Here  closed  the  meditative  strain  ;  25 

But  air  breathed  soft  that  day, 
The  hoary  mountain-heights  were  cheered, 

The  sunny  vale  looked  gay ; 
And  to  the  Primrose  of  the  Rock 

I  gave  this  after-lay.  30 

I  sang  —  Let  myriads  of  bright  flowers, 

Like  Thee,  in  field  and  grove 
Revive  unenvied  ;  —  mightier  far, 

Than  tremblings  that  reprove 
Our  vernal  tendencies  to  hope,  35 

Is  God's  redeeming  love  ; 

That  love  which  changed  —  for  wan  disease, 

For  sorrow  that  had  bent 
O'er  hopeless  dust,  for  withered  age — 

Their  moral  element,  4° 

And  turned  the  thistles  of  a  curse 

To  types  beneficent. 

Sin-blighted  though  we  are,  we  too, 

The  reasoning  Sons  of  Men, 
From  one  oblivious  winter  called  45 

Shall  rise,  and  breathe  again  ; 


290 


YARROW  REVISITED. 

And  in  eternal  summer  lose 
Our  threescore  years  and  ten. 

To  humbleness  of  heart  descends 

This  prescience  from  on  high,  50 

The  faith  that  elevates  the  just, 

Before  and  when  they  die  ; 

And  makes  each  soul  a  separate  heaven, 

A  court  for  Deity. 

1831. 


YARROW    REVISITED. 

The  following  Stanzas  are  a  memorial  of  a  day  passed  with  Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  other  Friends  visiting  the  Banks  of  the  Yarrow  under  his  guidance, 
immediately  before  his  departure  from  Abbotsford,  for  Naples. 

The  title  Yarrow  Revisited  will  stand  in  no  need  of  explanation  for  Readers 
acquainted  with  the  Author's  previous  poems  suggested  by  that  celebrated 
Stream. 

The  gallant  Youth,  who  may  have  gained, 

Or  seeks,  a  "winsome  Marrow," 
Was  but  an  Infant  in  the  lap 

When  first  I  looked  on  Yarrow ; 
Once  more,  by  Newark's  Castle-gate  S 

Long  left  without  a  warder, 
I  stood,  looked,  listened,  and  with  Thee, 

Great  Minstrel  of  the  Border  ! 

Grave  thoughts  ruled  wide  on  that  sweet  day. 

Their  dignity  installing  10 

In  gentle  bosoms,  while  sere  leaves 

Were  on  the  bough,  or  falling ; 
But  breezes  played,  and  sunshine  gleamed  — 

The  forest  to  embolden  ; 
Reddened  the  fiery  hues,  and  shot  15 

Transparence  through  the  golden. 


YARROW  REVISITED.  291 

For  busy  thoughts  the  Stream  flowed  on 

In  foamy  agitation  ; 
And  slept  in  many  a  crystal  pool 

For  quiet  contemplation  :  20 

No  public  and  no  private  care 

The  freeborn  mind  enthralling, 
We  made  a  day  of  happy  hours, 

Our  happy  days  recalling. 

Brisk  Youth  appeared,  the  Morn  of  youth,  25 

With  freaks  of  graceful  folly,  — 
Life's  temperate  Noon,  her  sober  Eve, 

Her  Night  not  melancholy  ; 
Past,  present,  future,  all  appeared 

In  harmony  united,  30 

Like  guests  that  meet,  and  some  from  far, 

By  cordial  love  invited. 

And  if,  as  Yarrow,  through  the  woods 

And  down  the  meadow  ranging, 
Did  meet  us  with  unaltered  face,  35 

Though  we  were  changed  and  changing ; 
If,  then,  some  natural  shadows  spread 

Our  inward  prospect  over, 
The  soul's  deep  valley  was  not  slow 

Its  brightness  to  recover.  4° 

Eternal  blessings  on  the  Muse, 

And  her  divine  employment! 
The  blameless  Muse,  who  trains  her  Sons 

For  hope  and  calm  enjoyment ; 
Albeit  sickness,  lingering  yet,  45 

Has  o'er  their  pillow  brooded  ; 
And  Care  waylays  their  steps  —  a  Sprite 

Not  easilv  eluded. 


292  YARROW  REV/SITED. 

For  thee,  O  Scott!  compelled  to  change 

Green  Eildon-hill  and  Cheviot  5° 

For  warm  Vesuvio's  vine-clad  slopes  ; 

And  leave  thy  Tweed  and  Tiviot 
For  mild  Sorento's  breezy  waves  ; 

May  classic  Fancy,  linking 
With  native  Fancy  her  fresh  aid,  55 

Preserve  thy  heart  from  sinking  ! 

Oh  !  while  they  minister  to  thee, 

Each  vying  with  the  other. 
May  Health  return  to  mellow  Age 

With  Strength,  her  venturous  brother ;  60 

And  Tiber,  and  each  brook  and  rill 

Renowned  in  song  and  story. 
With  unimagined  beauty  shine. 

Nor  lose  one  ray  of  glory ! 

For  Thou,  upon  a  hundred  streams,  65 

By  tales  of  love  and  sorrow, 
Of  faithful  love,  undaunted  truth. 

Hast  shed  the  power  of  Yarrow; 
And  streams  unknown,  hills  yet  unseen, 

Wherever  they  invite  Thee,  7° 

At  parent  Nature's  grateful  call, 

With  gladness  must  requite  Thee. 

A  gracious  welcome  shall  be  thine, 

Such  looks  of  love  and  honour 
As  thy  own  Yarrow  gave  to  me  75 

When  first  I  gazed  upon  her  ; 
Beheld  what  I  had  feared  to  see, 

Unwilling  to  surrender 
Dreams  treasured  up  from  early  days, 

The  holy  and  the  tender.  80 


YAJiROW  REVISITED. 


293 


And  what,  for  this  frail  world,  were  all 

That  mortals  do  or  suffer, 
Did  no  responsive  harp,  no  pen, 

Memorial  tribute  offer  ? 
Yea,  what  were  mighty  Nature's  self  ?  85 

Her  features,  could  they  win  us, 
Unhelped  by  the  poetic  voice 

That  hourly  speaks  within  us  ? 

Nor  deem  that  localised  Romance 

Plays  false  with  our  affections  ;  9° 

Unsanctifies  our  tears  —  made  sport 

For  fanciful  dejections  : 
Ah,  no !  the  visions  of  the  past 

Sustain  the  heart  in  feeling 
Life  as  she  is  —  our  changeful  Life,  95 

With  friends  and  kindred  dealing. 

Bear  witness.  Ye,  whose  thoughts  that  day 

In  Yarrow's  groves  were  centred  ; 
Who  through  the  silent  portal  arch 

Of  mouldering  Newark  entered  ;  'oo 

And  clomb  the  winding  stair  that  once 

Too  timidly  was  mounted 
By  the  "  last  Minstrel,"  (not  the  last !) 

Ere  he  his  Tale  recounted. 

Flow  on  for  ever.  Yarrow  Stream  !  105 

Fulfil  thy  pensive  duty, 
Well  pleased  that  future  Bards  should  chant 

For  simple  hearts  thy  beauty  ; 
To  dream-light  dear  while  yet  unseen, 

Dear  to  the  common  sunshine,  no 

And  dearer  still  as  now  I  feel, 

To  memory's  shadowy  moonshine  ! 


2  94  DEVOTIONAL   INCITEMENTS. 

DEVOTIONAL   INCITEMENTS. 

"  Not  to  the  earth  confined. 
Ascend  to  heaven." 

Where  will  they  stop,  those  breathing  Powers, 

The  Spirits  of  the  new-born  flowers  ? 

They  wander  with  the  breeze,  they  wind 

Where'er  the  streams  a  passage  find  ; 

Up  from  their  native  ground  they  rise  5 

In  mute  aerial  harmonies  ; 

From  humble  violet  —  modest  thyme  — 

Exhaled,  the  essential  odours  climb, 

As  if  no  space  below  the  sky 

Their  subtle  flight  could  satisfy:  lo 

Heaven  will  not  tax  our  thoughts  with  pride 

If  like  ambition  be  their  guide. 

Roused  by  this  kindliest  of  May-showers, 
The  spirit-quickener  of  the  flowers. 
That  with  moist  virtue  softly  cleaves  15 

The  buds,  and  freshens  the  young  leaves, 
The  birds  pour  forth  their  souls  in  notes 
Of  rapture  from  a  thousand  throats  — 
Here  checked  by  too  impetuous  haste. 
While  there  the  music  runs  to  waste,  20 

With  bounty  more  and  more  enlarged, 
Till  the  whole  air  is  overcharged  ; 
Give  ear,  O  Man  !  to  their  appeal 
And  thirst  for  no  inferior  zeal. 
Thou,  who  canst  think  as  well  as  feel.  25 

Mount  from  the  earth  ;  aspire  !  aspire  ! 
So  pleads  the  town's  cathedral  quire, 
In  strains  that  from  their  solemn  height 
Sink,  to  attain  a  loftier  flight ; 
While  incense  from  the  altar  breathes  30 


DE VO TJONAL    INCITEMENTS. 


'■OS 


Rich  fragrance  in  embodied  wreaths  ; 

Or,  flung  from  swinging  censer,  shrouds 

The  taper-lights,  and  curls  in  clouds 

Around  angelic  Forms,  the  still 

Creation  of  the  painter's  skill,  35 

That  on  the  service  wait  concealed 

One  moment,  and  the  next  revealed 

—  Cast  off  your  bonds,  awake,  arise, 

And  for  no  transient  ecstasies  ! 

What  else  can  mean  this  visual  plea  4° 

Of  still  or  moving  imagery  - — 

The  iterated  summons  loud, 

Not  wasted  on  the  attendant  crowd. 

Nor  wholly  lost  upon  the  throng 

Hurrying  the  busy  streets  along  ?  45 

Alas  !  the  sanctities  combined 
By  art  to  unsensualise  the  mind. 
Decay  and  languish  ;  or,  as  creeds 
And  humours  change,  are  spurned  like  weeds  : 
The  priests  are  from  their  altars  thrust ;  50 

Temples  are  levelled  with  the  dust; 
And  solemn  rites  and  awful  forms 
Founder  amid  fanatic  storms. 
Yet  evermore,  through  years  renewed 
In  undisturbed  vicissitude  55 

Of  seasons  balancing  their  flight 
On  the  swift  wings  of  day  and  night, 
Kind  Nature  keeps  a  heavenly  door 
Wide  open  for  the  scattered  Poor. 

Where  flower-breathed  incense  to  the  skies  60 

Is  wafted  in  mute  harmonies  ; 
And  ground  fresh-cloven  by  the  plough 
Is  fragrant  with  a  humbler  vow  ; 
Where  birds  and  brooks  from  leafy  dells 


296  AN  EVENING    VOLUNTARY. 

Chime  forth  unwearied  canticles,  65 

And  vapours  magnify  and  spread 

The  glory  of  the  sun's  bright  head  — 

Still  constant  in  her  worship,  still 

Conforming  to  the  eternal  Will, 

Whether  men  sow  or  reap  the  fields,  70 

Divine  monition  Nature  yields, 

That  not  by  bread  alone  we  live, 

Or  what  a  hand  of  flesh  can  give ; 

That  every  day  should  leave  some  part 

Free  for  a  sabbath  of  the  heart :  75 

So  shall  the  seventh  be  truly  blest, 

From  morn  to  eve,  with  hallowed  rest. 

1832. 


"CALM    IS    THE    FRAGRANT   AIR." 

(An  Evening  Voluntary.) 

Calm  is  the  fragrant  air,  and  loth  to  lose 

Day's  grateful  warmth,  tho'  moist  with  falling  dews. 

Look  for  the  stars,  you  '11  say  that  there  are  none ; 

Look  up  a  second  time,  and,  one  by  one. 

You  mark  them  twinkling  out  with  silvery  light,  5 

And  wonder  how  they  could  elude  the  sight! 

The  birds,  of  late  so  noisy  in  their  bowers. 

Warbled  a  while  with  faint  and  fainter  powers, 

But  now  are  silent  as  the  dim-seen  flowers  : 

Nor  does  the  village  Church-clock's  iron  tone  10 

The  time's  and  season's  influence  disown ; 

Nine  beats  distinctly  to  each  other  bound 

In  drowsy  sequence  —  how  unlike  the  sound 

That,  in  rough  winter,  oft  inflicts  a  fear 

On  fireside  listeners,  doubting  what  they  hear  !  15 


"IF  THIS  GREAT  WORLD  OF  JOY  AND   FAIN."     297 

The  shepherd,  bent  on  rising  with  the  sun, 

Had  closed  his  door  before  the  day  was  done. 

And  now  with  thankful  heart  to  bed  doth  creep, 

And  joins  his  little  children  in  their  sleep. 

The  bat,  lured  forth  where  trees  the  lane  o'ershade,        20 

Flits  and  reflits  along  the  close  arcade  ; 

The  busy  dor-hawk  chases  the  white  moth 

With  burring  note,  which  Industry  and  Sloth 

Might  both  be  pleased  with,  for  it  suits  them  both. 

A  stream  is  heard — I  see  it  not,  but  know  25 

By  its  soft  music  whence  the  waters  flow  : 

Wheels  and  the  tread  of  hoofs  are  heard  no  more; 

One  boat  there  was,  but  it  will  touch  the  shore 

With  the  next  dipping  of  its  slackened  oar  ; 

Faint  sound,  that,  for  the  gayest  of  the  gay,  3° 

Might  give  to  serious  thought  a  moment's  sway, 

As  a  last  token  of  man's  toilsome  day ! 

1832. 


IF   THIS   GREAT    WORLD    OF  JOY    AND   PAIN." 

If  this  great  world  of  joy  and  pain 

Revolve  in  one  sure  track  ; 
If  freedom,  set,  will  rise  again. 

And  virtue,  flown,  come  back  ; 
Woe  to  the  purblind  crew  who  fill 

The  heart  with  each  day's  care  ; 
Nor  gain,  from  past  or  future,  skill 

To  bear,  and  to  forbear ! 

1833- 


298  COAST  OF   CUMBERLAND. 

ON  A  HIGH  PART  OF   THE  COAST  OF  CUMBERLAND, 

EASTER    SUNDAY,  APRIL    7,  THE   AUTHOR'S    SIXTY-THIRD    BIRTHDAY. 

(An   Evening  Voluntary.) 

The  Sun,  that  seemed  so  mildly  to  retire, 
Flung  back  from  distant  climes  a  streaming  fire, 
Whose  blaze  is  now  subdued  to  tender  gleams, 
Prelude  of  night's  approach  with  soothing  dreams. 
Look  round  ;  —  of  all  the  clouds  not  one  is  moving ;       5 
'Tis  the  still  hour  of  thinking,  feeling,  loving. 
Silent,  and  stedfast  as  the  vaulted  sky. 
The  boundless  plain  of  waters  seems  to  lie:  — 
Comes  that  low  sound  from  breezes  rustling  o'er 
The  grass-crowned  headland  that  conceals  the  shore  ?    'o 
No  ;  'tis  the  earth-voice  of  the  mighty  sea, 
Whispering  how  meek  and  gentle  he  ca7i  be  ! 

Thou  Power  supreme  !  who,  arming  to  rebuke 
Offenders,  dost  put  off  the  gracious  look, 
And  clothe  thyself  with  terrors  like  the  flood  15 

Of  ocean  roused  into  its  fiercest  mood. 
Whatever  discipline  thy  Will  ordain 
For  the  brief  course  that  must  for  me  remain; 
Teach  me  with  quick-eared  spirit  to  rejoice 
In  admonitions  of  thy  softest  voice  !  20 

Whate'er  the  path  these  mortal  feet  may  trace, 
Breathe  through  my  soul  the  blessing  of  thy  grace, 
Glad,  through  a  perfect  love,  a  faith  sincere 
Drawn  from  the  wisdom  that  begins  with  fear. 
Glad  to  expand  ;  and,  for  a  season,  free  25 

From  finite  cares,  to  rest  absorbed  in  Thee  ! 

1833- 


i\OT  IN  THE    LUCID  INTERVALS   OF  LIFE. 


299 


"NOT    IN    THE   LUCID    INTERVALS    OF   LIFE." 

(An  Evening  Voluntary.) 

Not  in  the  lucid  intervals  of  life 

That  come  but  as  a  curse  to  party-strife  ; 

Not  in  some  hour  when  Pleasure  with  a  sigh 

Of  languor  puts  his  rosy  garland  by  ; 

Not  in  the  breathing-times  of  that  poor  slave  5 

Who  daily  piles  up  wealth  in  Mammon's  cave  — 

Is  Nature  felt,  or  can  be  ;  nor  do  words. 

Which  practised  talent  readily  affords, 

Prove  that  her  hand  has  touched  responsive  chords  ; 

Nor  has  her  gentle  beauty  power  to  move  10 

With  genuine  rapture  and  with  fervent  love 

The  soul  of  Genius,  if  he  dare  to  take 

Life's  rule  from  passion  craved  for  passion's  sake ; 

Untaught  that  meekness  is  the  cherished  bent 

Of  all  the  truly  great  and  all  the  innocent.  15 

But  who  is  innocent  ?     By  grace  divine. 
Not  otherwise,  O  Nature  !  we  are  thine. 
Through  good  and  evil  thine,  in  just  degree 
Of  rational  and  manly  sympathy. 

To  all  that  Earth  from  pensive  hearts  is  stealing,         20 
And  Heaven  is  now  to  gladdened  eyes  revealing, 
Add  every  charm  the  Universe  can  show 
Through  every  change  its  aspects  undergo  — 
Care  may  be  respited,  but  not  repealed  ; 
No  perfect  cure  grows  on  that  bounded  field.  25 

Vain  is  the  pleasure,  a  false  calm  the  peace. 
If  He,  through  whom  alone  our  conflicts  cease. 
Our  virtuous  hopes  without  relapse  advance. 
Come  not  to  speed  the  Soul's  deliverance  ; 
To  the  distempered  Intellect  refuse  3° 

His  gracious  help,  or  give  what  we  abuse. 

1834. 


^oo  ^^^'    'J'^^   DEATH   OF   CHARLES   LAMB. 


TO    A    CHILD. 

WRITTEN    IN    HER    ALBUM. 

Small  service  is  true  service  while  it  lasts  : 

Of  humblest  Friends,  bright  Creature !  scorn  not  one 

The  Daisy,  by  the  shadow  that  it  casts, 

Protects  the  lingering  dew-drop  from  the  Sun. 


WRITTEN    AFTER    THE    DEATH    OF    CHARLES    LAMli. 

To  a  good  Man  of  most  dear  memory 

This  Stone  is  sacred.     Here  he  lies  apart 

From  the  great  city  where  he  first  drew  breath, 

Was  reared  and  taught  ;  and  humbly  earned  his  bread. 

To  the  strict  labours  of  the  merchant's  desk  5 

By  duty  chained.     Not  seldom  did  those  tasks 

Tease,  and  the  thought  of  time  so  spent  depress 

His  spirit,  but  the  recompence  was  high  ; 

Firm  Independence,  Bounty's  rightful  sire  : 

Affections,  warm  as  sunshine,  free  as  air;  lo 

And  when  the  precious  hours  of  leisure  came. 

Knowledge  and  wisdom,  gained  from  converse  sweet 

With  books,  or  while  he  ranged  the  crowded  streets 

With  a  keen  eye,  and  overflowing  heart : 

So  genius  triumphed  over  seeming  wrong,  15 

And  poured  out  truth  in  works  by  thoughtful  love 

Inspired  —  works  potent  over  smiles  and  tears. 

And  as  round  mountain-tops  the  lightning  plays, 

Thus  innocently  sported,  breaking  forth 

As  from  a  cloud  of  some  grave  sympathy,  20 

Humour  and  wild  instinctive  wit,  and  all 


ON    THE    DEATH    OT    CHARLES   LAMIJ.  301 

The  vivid  Hashes  of  his  spoken  words. 

From  the  most  gentle  creature  nursed  in  fields 

Had  been  derived  the  name  he  bore  —  a  name, 

Wherever  Christian  altars  have  been  raised.  25 

Hallowed  to  meekness  and  to  innocence  ; 

And  if  in  him  meekness  at  times  gave  way. 

Provoked  out  of  herself  by  troubles  strange. 

Many  and  strange,  that  hung  about  his  life  ; 

Still,  at  the  centre  of  his  being,  lodged  30 

A  soul  by  resignation  sanctified  : 

And  if  too  often,  self-reproached,  he  felt 

That  innocence  belongs  not  to  our  kind. 

A  power  that  never  ceased  to  abide  in  him, 

Charity,  'mid  the  multitude  of  sins  35 

That  she  can  cover,  left  not  his  exposed 

To  an  unforgiving  judgment  from  just  Heaven. 

Oh,  he  was  good,  if  e'er  a  good  Man  lived  I 


From  a  reflecting  mind  and  sorrowing  heart 

Those  simple  lines  flowed  with  an  earnest  wish,  40 

Though  but  a  doubting  hope,  that  they  might  serve 

Fitly  to  guard  the  precious  dust  of  him 

Whose  virtues  called  them  forth.     That  aim  is  missed  ; 

For  much  that  truth  most  urgently  required 

Had  from  a  faltering  pen  been  asked  in  vain  :  45 

Yet,  haply,  on  the  printed  page  received. 

The  imperfect  record,  there,  may  stand  unblamed 

As  long  as  verse  of  mine  shall  breathe  the  air 

Of  memory,  or  see  the  light  of  love. 

Thou  wert  a  scorner  of  the  fields,  my  Friend.  50 

But  more  in  show  than  truth  ;   and  from  the  fields. 
And  from  the  mountains,  to  thy  rural  grave 
Transported,  my  soothed  spirit  hovers  o'er 


302  ON    THE   DEAl'H   OF   CHARLES   LAMB. 

Its  green  untrodden  turf,  and  blowing  Howers  ; 

And  taking  up  a  voice  shall  speak  (tho'  still  55 

Awed  by  the  theme's  peculiar  sanctity 

Which  words  less  free  presumed  not  even  to  touch) 

Of  that  fraternal  love,  whose  heaven-lit  lamp 

From  infancy,  through  manhood,  to  the  last 

Of  threescore  years,  and  to  thy  latest  hour,  60 

Burnt  on  with  ever-strengthening  light,  enshrined 

Within  thy  bosom. 

"  Wonderful "'  hath  been 
The  love  established  between  man  and  man, 
"  Passing  the  love  of  women  "  ;  and  between 
Man  and  his  help-mate  in  fast  wedlock  joined  65 

Through  God,  is  raised  a  spirit  and  soul  of  love 
Without  whose  blissful  influence  Paradise 
Had  been  no  Paradise ;  and  earth  were  now 
A  waste  where  creatures  bearing  human  form, 
Direst  of  savage  beasts,  would  roam  in  fear,  7° 

Joyless  and  comfortless.     Our  days  glide  on; 
And  let  him  grieve  who  cannot  choose  but  grieve 
That  he  hath  been  an  Elm  without  his  Vine, 
And  her  bright  dower  of  clustering  charities. 
That,  round  his  trunk  and  branches,  might  have  clung    75 
Enriching  and  adorning.     Unto  thee. 
Not  so  enriched,  not  so  adorned,  to  thee 
Was  given  (say  rather,  thou  of  later  birth 
Wert  given  to  her)  a  Sister  —  't  is  a  word 
Timidly  uttered,  for  she  lives,  the  meek,  80 

The  self-restraining,  and  the  ever-kind  ; 
In  whom  thy  reason  and  intelligent  heart 
Found  —  for  all  interests,  hopes,  and  tender  cares. 
All  softening,  humanising,  hallowing  powers. 
Whether  withheld,  or  for  her  sake  unsought —  85 

More  than  sufficient  recompence ! 


ox    THE   DEATH   OE   CHARLES   LAMB.  303 

Her  love 
(What  weakness  prompts  the  voice  to  tell  it  here?) 
Was  as  the  love  of  mothers  :  and  when  years, 
Lifting  the  boy  to  man's  estate,  had  called 
The  long-protected  to  assume  the  part  9° 

Of  a  protector,  the  first  filial  tie 
Was  undissolved  ;   and,  in  or  out  of  sight, 
Remained  imperishably  interwoven 
With  life  itself.     Thus,  "mid  a  shifting  world. 
Did  they  together  testify  of  time  95 

And  season's  difference — a  double  tree 
With  two  collateral  stems  sprung  from  one  root  ; 
Such  were  they  —  such  thro"  life  they  might  have  been 
In  union,  in  partition  only  such  ; 

Otherwise  wrought  the  will  of  the  Most  High  ;  100 

Yet,  thro'  all  visitations  and  all  trials. 
Still  they  were  faithful  ;    like  two  vessels  launched 
From  the  same  beach  one  ocean  to  explore 
With  mutual  help,  and  sailing —  to  their  league 
True,  as  inexorable  winds,  or  bars  105 

Floating  or  fixed  of  polar  ice,  allow. 

But  turn  we  rather,  let  my  spirit  turn 
With  thine,  O  silent  and  invisible  Friend  ! 
To  those  dear  intervals,  nor  rare  nor  brief. 
When  reunited,  and  by  choice  withdrawn  no 

From  miscellaneous  converse,  ye  were  taught 
That  the  remembrance  of  foregone  distress. 
And  the  worse  fear  of  future  ill  (which  oft 
Doth  hang  around  it.  as  a  sickly  child 

Upon  its  mother)  may  be  both  alike  11 5 

Disarmed  of  power  to  unsettle  present  good 
So  prized,  and  things  inward  and  outward  held 
In  such  an  even  balance,  that  the  heart 
Acknowledges  (iod's  grace,  his  mercy  feels. 


304  OA-   THE   DEATH   OE  JAMES   HOGG. 

And  in  its  depth  of  gratitude  is  still.  120 

O  gift  divine  of  quiet  sequestration  ! 
The  hermit,  exercised  in  prayer  and  praise, 
And  feeding  daily  on  the  hope  of  heaven. 
Is  happy  in  his  vow,  and  fondly  cleaves 
To  life-long  singleness  ;  but  happier  far  125 

Was  to  your  souls,  and,  to  the  thoughts  of  others, 
A  thousand  times  more  beautiful  appeared. 
Your  dual  loneliness.     The  sacred  tie 
Is  broken  ;  yet  why  grieve  ?  for  Time  but  holds 
His  moiety  in  trust,  till  Joy  shall  lead  130 

To  the  blest  world  where  parting  is  unknown. 


EXTEMPORE    EFFUSION    UPON    THE   DEATH   OF 
JAMES    HOGG. 

When  first,  descending  from  the  moorlands, 

I  saw  the  Stream  of  Yarrow  glide 

Along  a  bare  and  open  valley. 

The  Ettrick  Shepherd  was  my  guide. 

When  last  along  its  banks  I  wandered, 
Through  groves  that  had  begun  to  shed 
Their  golden  leaves  upon  the  pathways, 
My  steps  the  Border-minstrel  led. 

'J'he  mighty  Minstrel  breathes  no  longer, 
"Mid  mouldering  ruins  low  he  lies  ; 
And  death  upon  the  braes  of  Yarrow, 
Has  closed  the  Shepherd-poet's  eyes  : 

Nor  has  the  rolling  year  twice  measured. 
From  sign  to  sign,  its  stedfast  course. 


ON   THE   DEA  TH   OF  JAMES   HOGG.  305 

Since  every  mortal  power  of  Coleridge  15 

Was  frozen  at  its  marvellous  source; 

The  rapt  One,  of  the  godlike  forehead, 

The  heaven-eyed  creature  sleeps  in  earth  : 

And  Lamb,  the  frolic  and  the  gentle. 

Has  vanished  from  his  lonely  hearth.  20 

Like  clouds  that  rake  the  mountain-summits, 
Or  waves  that  own  no  curbing  hand. 
How  fast  has  brother  followed  brother 
From  sunshine  to  the  sunless  land  I 

Yet  L  whose  lids  from  infant  slumber  25 

Were  earlier  raised,  remain  to  hear 
A  timid  voice,  that  asks  in  whispers, 
"Who  next  will  drop  and  disappear? "' 

Our  haughty  life  is  crowned  with  darkness, 

Like  London  with  its  own  black  wreath.  30 

On  which  with  thee,  O  Crabbe !  forthlooking, 

I  gazed  from  Hampstead's  breezy  heath. 

As  if  but  yesterday  departed. 

Thou  too  art  gone  before  ;  but  why. 

O'er  ripe  fruit,  seasonably  gathered,  35 

Should  frail  survivors  heave  a  sigh  ? 

Mourn  rather  for  that  holy  Spirit, 

Sweet  as  the  spring,  as  ocean  deep : 

For  Her  who,  ere  her  summer  faded, 

Has  sunk  into  a  breathless  sleep.  40 

No  more  of  old  romantic  sorrows, 

For  slaughtered  Youth  or  love-lorn  Maid  I 

With  sharper  grief  is  Yarrow  smitten, 

And  Ettrick  mourns  with  her  their  Poet  dead. 

Xov.,  1835. 


SONNETS. 

I. 

POLITIC  A  L    SONNE  TS. 


COMPOSED    BY    THE    SEASIDE,  XEAR   CALAIS, 

August,  1802. 

Fair  Star  of  evening.  Splendour  of  the  west, 

Star  of  my  Country  !  —  on  the  horizon's  brink 

Thou  hangest,  stooping,  as  might  seem,  to  sink 

On  England's  bosom  ;  yet  well  pleased  to  rest, 

Meanwhile,  and  be  to  her  a  glorious  crest 

Conspicuous  to  the  Nations.     Thou,  I  think, 

Should'st  be  my  Country's  emblem ;  and  should'st  wink. 

Bright  Star  !  with  laughter  on  her  banners,  drest 

In  thy  fresh  beauty.     There  I  that  dusky  spot 

Beneath  thee,  that  is  England  :  there  she  lies. 

Blessings  be  on  you  both  !  one  hope,  one  lot, 

One  life,  one  glory  !  —  I,  with  many  a  fear 

For  my  dear  Country,  many  heartfelt  sighs. 

Among  men  who  do  not  love  her.  linger  here. 


CALAIS,  August,  1802. 

Is  it  a  reed  that 's  shaken  by  the  wind. 

Or  what  is  it  that  ye  go  forth  to  see  ? 

Lords,  lawyers,  statesmen,  squires  of  low  degree, 


3o8 


/8oi 


Men  known,  and  men  unknown,  sick,  lame,  and  blind. 

Post  forward  all,  like  creatures  of  one  kind, 

With  first-fruit  offerings  crowd  to  bend  the  knee 

In  PYance,  before  the  new-born  Majesty. 

'Tis  ever  thus.     Ye  men  of  prostrate  mind, 

A  seemly  reverence  may  be  paid  to  power : 

But  that 's  a  loyal  virtue,  never  sown 

In  haste,  nor  springing  with  a  transient  shower  : 

When  truth,  when  sense,  when  liberty  were  flown. 

What  hardship  had  it  been  to  wait  an  hour  ? 

Shame  on  you.  feeble  Heads,  to  slavery  prone  ! 


1801. 

I  GRIEVED  for  Buonaparte,  with  a  vain 
And  an  unthinking  grief  !  The  tenderest  mood 
Of  that  Man's  mind — what  can  it  be  1  what  food 
Fed  his  first  hopes  ?  what  knowledge  could  he  gain  ? 
'T  is  not  in  battles  that  from  youth  we  train 
The  Governor  who  must  be  wise  and  good, 
And  temper  with  the  sternness  of  the  brain 
Thoughts  motherly,  and  meek  as  womanhood. 
Wisdom  doth  live  with  children  round  her  knees  : 
Books,  leisure,  perfect  freedom,  and  the  talk 
Man  holds  with  week-day  man  in  the  hourly  walk 
Of  the  mind's  business ;  these  are  the  degrees 
By  which  true  Sway  doth  mount ;  this  is  the  stalk 
True  Power  doth  grow  on  ;  and  her  rights  are  these. 

1802. 


TO    TOrSSAIXT  L'OUVERTLRE. 


309 


ON  THE  EXTINCTION   OF  THE   VENETIAN   REPUBLIC. 

Once  did' She  hold  the  gorgeous  east  in  fee  ; 

And  was  the  safeguard  of  the  west :  the  worth 

Of  Venice  did  not  fall  below  her  birth, 

Venice,  the  eldest  Child  of  Liberty. 

She  was  a  maiden  City,  bright  and  free  ; 

No  guile  seduced,  no  force  could  violate  : 

And,  when  she  took  unto  herself  a  Mate, 

She  must  espouse  the  everlasting  Sea. 

And  what  if  she  had  seen  those  glories  fade. 

Those  titles  vanish,  and  that  strength  decay  : 

Yet  shall  some  tribute  of  regret  be  paid 

When  her  long  life  hath  reached  its  final  day  : 

Men  are  we,  and  must  grieve  when  even  the  Shade 

Of  that  which  once  was  great  is  passed  away. 

1802. 


TO   TOUSSAINT    L'OUVERTURE. 

ToussAixT,  the  most  unhappy  man  of  men  ! 
Whether  the  whistling  Rustic  tend  his  plough 
Within  thy  hearing,  or  thy  head  be  now 
Pillowed  in  some  deep  dungeon's  earless  den  ;  — 
O  miserable  Chieftain  !   where  and  when 
Wilt  thou  find  patience  ?     Yet  die  not ;  do  thou 
Wear  rather  in  thy  bonds  a  cheerful  brow  : 
Though  fallen  thyself,  never  to  rise  again. 
Live,  and  take  comfort.     Thou  hast  left  behind 
Powers  that  will  work  for  thee  ;  air,  earth,  and  skies 
There  's  not  a  breathing  of  the  common  wind 
That  will  forget  thee  ;   thou  hast  great  allies  ; 


3IO 


SEPTEMBER,  1802. 

Thy  friends  are  exultations,  agonies, 

And  love,  and  man's  unconquerable  mind. 

1802. 


SEPTEMBER,  1S02,  Near  Dover. 

Inland,  within  a  hollow  vale,  I  stood  ; 

And  saw,  while  sea  was  calm  and  air  was  clear. 

The  coast  of  France  —  the  coast  of  France  how  near  ! 

Drawn  almost  into  frightful  neighbourhood. 

I  shrunk  ;  for  verily  the  barrier  flood 

Was  like  a  lake,  or  river  bright  and  fair, 

A  span  of  waters ;  yet  what  power  is  there  ! 

What  mightiness  for  evil  and  for  good  ! 

Even  so  doth  God  protect  us  if  we  be 

Virtuous  and  wise.     Winds  blow,  and  waters  roll, 

Strength  to  the  brave,  and  Power,  and  Deity  ; 

Yet  in  themselves  are  nothing  !     One  decree 

Spake  laws  to  them,  and  said  that  by  the  soul 

Only,  the  Nations  shall  be  great  and  free. 


THOUGHT  OF    A   BRITON  ON    THE    SUBJUGATION  OF 
SWITZERLAND. 

Two  Voices  are  there  ;  one  is  of  the  sea. 

One  of  the  mountains  ;  each  a  mighty  Voice  : 

In  both  from  age  to  age  thou  didst  rejoice, 

They  were  thy  chosen  music.  Liberty  ! 

There  came  a  Tyrant,  and  with  holy  glee 

Thou  fought'st  against  him  ;  but  hast  vainly  striven  : 

Thou  from  thy  Alpine  holds  at  length  art  driven. 


IVRITTEN  IN  LONDON.  311 

Where  not  a  torrent  murmurs  heard  by  thee. 

Of  one  deep  bliss  thine  ear  hath  been  bereft : 

Then  cleave,  O  cleave  to  that  which  still  is  left :  'o 

For,  high-souled  Maid,  what  sorrow  would  it  be 

That  Mountain  floods  should  thunder  as  before. 

And  Ocean  bellow  from  his  rocky  shore. 

And  neither  awful  Voice  be  heard  by  thee. 

1806. 


WRITTEN    IN    LONDON,   Septemker,  1802. 

O  Friend  !   I  know  not  which  way  I  must  look 

For  comfort,  being,  as  I  am,  opprest. 

To  think  that  now  our  life  is  only  drest 

For  show  ;  mean  handy-work  of  craftsman,  cook. 

Or  groom  !  —  We  must  run  glittering  like  a  brook 

In  the  open  sunshine,  or  we  are  unblest: 

The  wealthiest  man  among  us  is  the  best  : 

No  grandeur  now  in  nature  or  in  book 

Delights  us.     Rapine,  avarice,  expense. 

This  is  idolatry  ;  and  these  we  adore  : 

Plain  living  and  high  thinking  are  no  more  : 

The  homely  beauty  of  the  good  old  cause 

Is  gone  ;  our  peace,  our  fearful  innocence. 

And  pure  religion  breathing  household  laws. 


LONDON,   iSo; 


Milton  !  thou  should'st  be  living  at  this  hour  : 
England  hath  need  of  thee  :  she  is  a  fen 
Of  stagnant  waters  :  altar,  sword,  and  pen. 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower. 


312 


'  JT  JS   NOT    7V   BE    THOUGHT  OFr 

Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 

Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men  ; 

Oh  !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again ; 

And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 

Thy,  soul  was  like  a  Star,  and  dwelt  apart : 

Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea  : 

Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free, 

So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way. 

In  cheerful  godliness  ;    and  yet  thy  heart 

The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 


It  is  not  to  be  thought  of  that  the  Flood 

Of  British  freedom,  which,  to  the  open  sea 

Of  the  world's  praise,  from  dark  antiquity 

Hath  flowed,  "  with  pomp  of  waters,  unwithstood," 

Roused  though  it  be  full  often  to  a  mood 

Which  spurns  the  check  of  salutary  bands. 

That  this  most  famous  Stream  in  bogs  and  sands 

Should  perish  ;  and  to  evil  and  to  good 

Be  lost  forever.      In  our  halls  is  hung 

Armoury  of  the  invincible  Knights  of  old  : 

We  must  be  free  or  die,  who  speak  the  tongue 

That  Shakspeare  spake  ;  the  faith  and  morals  hold 

Which  Milton  held.  —  In  every  thing  we  are  sprung 

Of  Earth's  first  blood,  have  titles  manifold. 

1S02. 


When  I  have  borne  in  memory  what  has  tamed 
Great  Nations,  how  ennobling  thoughts  depart 
When  men  change  swords  for  ledgers,  and  desert 


OCTOBER,  1803.  313 

The  student's  bower  for  gold,  some  fears  unnamed 

I  had,  my  Country  !  — am  I  to  be  blamed?  5 

Now,  when  I  think  of  thee,  and  what  thou  art, 

Verily,  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 

Of  those  unfilial  fears  I  am  ashamed. 

For  dearly  must  we  prize  thee  ;  we  who  find 

In  thee  a  bulwark  for  the  cause  of  men  ;  10 

And  I  by  my  affection  -was  beguiled: 

What  wonder  if  a  Poet  now  and  then. 

Among  the  many  mov'ements  of  his  mind, 

Felt  for  thee  as  a  lover  or  a  child  ! 

1802. 


OCTOBER,    i«oj. 

These  times  strike  monied  worldlings  with  dismay  : 

Even  rich  men,  brave  by  nature,  taint  the  air 

With  words  of  apprehension  and  despair  : 

While  tens  of  thousands,  thinking  on  the  affray, 

Men  unto  whom  sufficient  for  the  day 

And  minds  not  stinted  or  untilled  are  given, 

Sound,  healthy,  children  of  the  God  of  heaven. 

Are  cheerful  as  the  rising  sun  in  May. 

What  do  we  gather  hence  but  firmer  faith 

That  every  gift  of  noble  origin 

Is  breathed  upon  by  Hope's  perpetual  breath  ; 

That  virtue  and  the  faculties  within 

Are  vital,  —  and  that  riches  are  akin 

To  fear,  to  change,  to  cowardice,  and  death  ? 


3'  J 


TO    THE   MEN   OE   KENT. 
IN    THE    PASS    OF    KILLICRANKV, 

AN    INVASION    BEING    EXPECTED,    OCTOBER,    1S03. 

Six  thousand  veterans  practised  in  war's  game, 

Tried  men,  at  Killicranky  were  arrayed 

Against  an  equal  host  that  wore  the  plaid, 

Shepherds  and  herdsmen.  —  Like  a  whirlwind  came 

The  Highlanders,  the  slaughter  spread  like  flame  ; 

And  Garry,  thundering  down  his  mountain-road. 

Was  stopped,  and  could  not  breathe  beneath  the  load 

Of  the  dead  bodies.  —  'Twas  a  day  of  shame 

For  them  whom  precept  and  the  pedantry 

Of  cold  mechanic  battle  do  enslave. 

O  for  a  single  hour  of  that  Dundee 

Who  on  that  day  the  word  of  onset  gave  ! 

Like  conquest  would  the  Men  of  England  see 

And  her  Foes  find  a  like  inglorious  grave. 


TO    THE    MEN    OF    KENT,  October,   1803. 

Vanguard  of  Liberty,  ye  men  of  Kent, 

Ye  children  of  a  Soil  that  doth  advance 

Her  haughty  brow  against  the  coast  of  France, 

Now  is  the  time  to  prove  your  hardiment  ! 

To  France  be  words  of  invitation  sent ! 

They  from  their  fields  can  see  the  countenance 

Of  your  fierce  war,  may  ken  the  glittering  lance. 

And  hear  you  shouting  forth  your  brave  intent. 

Left  single,  in  bold  parley,  ye,  of  yore, 

Did  from  the  Norman  win  a  gallant  wreath ; 

Confirmed  the  charters  that  were  yours  before ;  — 

No  parleying  now  !     In  Britain  is  one  breath  ; 


NOVEMBER,  1806. 

We  all  are  with  you  now  from  shore  to  shore 
Ye  men  of  Kent,  'tis  victory  or  death  ! 


NOVEMBER,    i<So6. 

Another  year!  —  another  deadly  blow! 
Another  mighty  Empire  overthrown  ! 
And  We  are  left,  or  shall  be  left,  alone ; 
The  last  that  dare  to  struggle  with  the  Foe. 
'Tis  well  !  from  this  day  forward  we  shall  know 
That  in  ourselves  our  safety  must  be  sought ; 
That  by  our  own  right  hands  it  must  be  wrought ; 
That  we  must  stand  unpropped,  or  be  laid  low. 
O  dastard  whom  such  foretaste  doth  not  cheer  ! 
We  shall  exult,  if  they  who  rule  the  land 
Be  men  who  hold  its  many  blessings  dear, 
Wise,  upright,  valiant  ;  not  a  servile  band. 
Who  are  to  judge  of  danger  which  they  fear 
And  honour  which  they  do  not  understand. 


TO    THOMAS    CLARKSON, 

ON    THE    FINAL    PASSING    OF    THE    BILL    FOR    THE    ABOLITION    OF 
THE     SLAVE    TRADE. 

March,  1S07. 

Clarkson  !  it  was  an  obstinate  hill  to  climb  : 
How  toilsome — nay,  how  dire  —  it  was,  by  thee 
Is  known  ;  by  none,  perhaps,  so  feelingly  : 
But  thou,  who,  starting  in  thy  fervent  prime, 
Didst  first  lead  forth  that  enterprise  sublime. 


315 


3i6 


GRASMERE   LAKE. 

Hast  heard  the  constant  Voice  its  charge  repeat, 
Which,  out  of  thy  young  heart's  oracular  seat, 
First  roused  thee.  —  O  true  yolk-fellow  of  Time, 
Duty's  intrepid  liegeman,  see,  the  palm 
Is  won,  and  by  all  Nations  shall  be  worn  ! 
The  blood-stained  Writing  is  for  ever  torn  ; 
And  thou  henceforth  wilt  have  a  good  man's  calm, 
A  great  man's  happiness ;  thy  zeal  shall  find 
Repose  at  length,  firm  friend  of  human  kind  ! 


COMPOSED    BY    THE   SIDE   OF   GRASMERE    LAKE. 
1807. 

Clouds,  lingering  yet,  extend  in  solid  bars 

Through  the  grey  west ;  and  lo  !  these  waters,  steeled 

By  breezeless  air  to  smoothest  polish,  yield 

A  vivid  repetition  of  the  stars  ; 

Jove,  Venus,  and  the  ruddy  crest  of  Mars 

Amid  his  fellows  beauteously  revealed 

At  happy  distance  from  earth's  groaning  field, 

Where  ruthless  mortals  wage  incessant  wars. 

Is  it  a  mirror  .-'  —  or  the  nether  Sphere 

Opening  to  view  the  abyss  in  which  she  feeds 

Her  own  calm  fires  ?  —  But  list  !  a  voice  is  near  ; 

Great  Pan  himself  low-whispering  through  the  reeds, 

"  Be  thankful,  thou  ;  for,  if  unholy  deeds 

Ravage  the  world,  tranquillity  is  here  !  " 


THE    COi\'VEN'nOi\'   Ol    CINTKA. 

COMPOSED    WHILE   THE    AUTHOR    WAS    ENGAGED 

IN    WRITING   A    TRACT,    OCCASIONED    BY 

THE   CONVENTION    OF  CINTRA. 

1808. 

Not  'mid  the  World's  vain  objects  that  enslave 

The  free-born  Soul  —  that  World  whose  vaunted  skill 

In  selfish  interest  perverts  the  will. 

Whose  factions  lead  astray  the  wise  and  brave  — 

Not  there  ;  but  in  dark  wood  and  rocky  cave, 

And  hollow  vale  which  foaming  torrents  fill 

With  omnipresent  murmur  as  they  rave 

Down  their  steep  beds,  that  never  shall  be  still ; 

Here,  mighty  Nature  ;   in  this  school  sublime 

I  weigh  the  hopes  and  fears  of  suiifering  Spain  : 

For  her  consult  the  auguries  of  time. 

And  through  the  human  heart  explore  my  way ; 

And  look  and  listen  —  gathering,  whence  1  may. 

Triumph,  and  thoughts  no  bondage  can  restrain. 


3»7 


Alas  !  what  boots  the  long  laborious  quest 

Of  moral  prudence,  sought  through  good  and  ill ; 

Or  pains  abstruse  —  to  elevate  the  will, 

And  lead  us  on  to  that  transcendent  rest 

Where  every  passion  shall  the  sway  attest 

Of  Reason,  seated  on  her  sovereign  hill ; 

What  is  it  but  a  vain  and  curious  skill, 

If  sapient  Germany  must  lie  deprest, 

Beneath  the  brutal  sword  ?  —  Her  haughty  Schools 

Shall  blush;  and  may  not  we  with  sorrow  say, 

A  few  strong  instincts  and  a  few  plain  rules. 

Among  the  herdsmen  of  the  Alps,  have  wrought 

More  for  mankind  at  this  unhappy  day 

Than  all  the  pride  of  intellect  and  thought  ?        ,3q„ 


3'8 


1811. 

The  power  of  Armies  is  a  visible  thing, 
Formal,  and  circumscribed  in  time  and  space  ; 
But  who  the  limits  of  that  power  shall  trace 
Which  a  brave  People  into  light  can  bring 
Or  hide,  at  will,  —  for  freedom  combating 
By  just  revenge  inflamed  ?     No  foot  may  chase, 
No  eye  can  follow,  to  a  fatal  place 
That  power,  that  spirit,  whether  on  the  wing 
Like  the  strong  wind,  or  sleeping  like  the  wind 
Within  its  awful  caves.  —  From  year  to  year 
Springs  this  indigenous  produce  far  and  near; 
No  craft  this  subtle  element  can  bind, 
Rising  like  water  from  the  soil,  to  find 
In  every  nook  a  lip  that  it  may  cheer. 


1811. 

Here  pause :  the  poet  claims  at  least  this  praise, 

That  virtuous  Liberty  hath  been  the  scope 

Of  his  pure  song,  uhich  did  not  shrink  from  hope 

In  the  worst  moment  of  these  evil  days: 

From  hope,  the  paramount  duty  that  Heaven  lays, 

For  its  own  honour,  on  man's  suffering  heart. 

Never  may  from  our  souls  one  truth  depart  — 

That  an  accursed  thing  it  is  to  gaze 

On  prosperous  tyrants  with  a  dazzled  eye  ; 

Nor  —  touched  with  due  abhorrence  of  their  guilt 

For  whose  dire  ends  tears  flow,  and  blood  is  spilt, 

And  justice  labours  in  extremity  — 

Forget  thy  weakness,  upon  which  is  built, 

O  wretched  man,  the  throne  of  tyranny ! 


II. 

MISCELLAXEOUS  SONNETS. 


COMPOSED     UPON    WESTMINSTER    BRIDGE. 
Sept.  3,  1802. 

Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair  : 
Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 
A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty: 
This  City  now  doth,  like  a  garment,  wear 
The  beauty  of  the  morning  ;  silent,  bare. 
Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie 
Open  unto  the  fields,  and  to  the  sky ; 
All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 
Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 
In  his  first  splendour,  valley,  rock,  or  hill; 
Ne'er  saw  I,  never  felt,  a  calm  so  deep ! 
The  river  glideth  at  his  own  sweet  will  : 
Dear  God  !  the  very  houses  seem  asleep  ; 
And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still ! 


It  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free, 

The  holy  time  is  quiet  as  a  Nun 

Breathless  with  adoration  :   the  broad  sun 

Is  sinking  down  in  its  tranquillity  ; 

The  gentleness  of  heaven  broods  o'er  the  Sea 

Listen  !   the  mighty  Being  is  awake. 

And  doth  with  his  eternal  motion  make 


320 


ACROSS    THE   HAMBLETON  HILLS. 

A  sound  like  thunder — everlastingly. 

Dear  Child  !  dear  Girl  !  that  walkest  with  me  here. 

If  thou  appear  untouched  by  solemn  thought, 

Thy  nature  is  not  therefore  less  divine  : 

Thou  liest  in  Abraham's  bosom  all  the  year  ; 

And  worship's!  at  the  Temple's  inner  shrine, 

God  being  with  thee  when  we  know  it  not. 

1802. 


COMPO.SED    AFTER  A    JOURNEY    ACROSS   THE    HAM- 
BLETON   HILLS,    YORKSHIRE. 

Dark  and  more  dark  the  shades  of  evening  fell ; 

The  wished-for  point  was  reached  —  but  at  an  hour 

When  little  could  be  gained  from  that  rich  dower 

Of  prospect,  whereof  many  thousands  tell. 

Yet  did  the  glowing  west  with  marvellous  power 

Salute  us  ;  there  stood  Indian  citadel, 

Temple  of  Greece,  and  minster  with  its  tower 

Substantially  expressed  —  a  place  for  bell 

Or  clock  to  toll  from  !     Many  a  tempting  isle, 

With  groves  that  never  were  imagined,  lay 

'Mid  seas  how  steadfast  !  objects  all  for  the  eye 

Of  silent  rapture  ;  but  we  felt  the  while 

We  should  forget  them  ;  they  are  of  the  sky. 

And  from  our  earthly  memory  fade  away.. 

1802. 


"  they  are  of  the  sky, 

And  from  our  earthly  memory  fade  away." 

Those  words  were  uttered  as  in  pensive  mood 
We  turned,  departing  from  that  solemn  sight  : 
A  contrast  and  reproach  to  gross  delight. 


COMPOSED   AT  [N^E/DFATH]    CASTLE.  321 

And  life's  unspiritual  pleasures  daily  wooed  ! 

But  now  upon  this  thought  I  cannot  brood  ;  5 

It  is  unstable  as  a  dream  of  night ; 

Nor  will  I  praise  a  cloud,  however  bright, 

Disparaging  Man's  gifts,  and  proper  food. 

Grove,  isle,  with  every  shape  of  sky-built  dome. 

Though  clad  in  colours  beautiful  and  pure,  'o 

Find  in  the  heart  of  man  no  natural  home  : 

The  immortal  Mind  craves  objects  that  endure  : 

These  cleave  to  it  ;  from  these  it  cannot  roam. 

Nor  they  from  it  :  their  fellowship  is  secure. 

Before  1S07. 


COMPOSED    AT    [NEIDPATH]   CASTLE. 

Degenerate  Douglas  !  oh,  the  unworthy  Lord  ! 
Whom  mere  despite  of  heart  could  so  far  please, 
And  love  of  havoc,  (for  with  such  disease 
Fame  taxes  him,)  that  he  could  send  forth  word 
To  level  with  the  dust  a  noble  horde, 
A  brotherhood  of  venerable  Trees, 
Leaving  an  ancient  dome,  and  towers  like  these. 
Beggared  and  outraged  !  —  Many  hearts  deplored 
The  fate  of  those  old  Trees ;  and  oft  with  pain 
The  traveller,  at  this  day,  will  stop  and  gaze 
On  wrongs,  which  Nature  scarcely  seems  to  heed ; 
For  sheltered  places,  bosoms,  nooks,  and  bays. 
And  the  pure  mountains,  and  the  gentle  Tweed. 
And  the  green  silent  pastures,  yet  remain. 

1803. 


322 


ADMONITION. 

Nuns  fret  not  at  their  convent's  narrow  room  ; 
And  hermits  are  contented  with  their  cells ; 
And  students  with  their  pensive  citadels  ; 
Maids  at  the  wheel,  the  weaver  at  his  loom, 
Sit  blithe  and  happy ;  bees  that  soar  for  bloom, 
High  as  the  highest  Peak  of  Furness-fells, 
Will  murmur  by  the  hour  in  foxglove  bells  : 
In  truth  the  prison,  unto  which  we  doom 
Ourselves,  no  prison  is  :   and  hence  for  me. 
In  sundry  moods,  't  was  pastime  to  be  bound 
Within  the  Sonnet's  scanty  plot  of  ground  ; 
Pleased  if  some  Souls  (for  such  there  needs  must  be) 
Who  have  felt  the  weight  of  too  much  liberty. 
Should  find  brief  solace  there,  as  I  have  found. 

Before  1807. 


ADMONITION. 

Intended  more  particularly  for  the  perusal  of  those  who  may  have  happened 
to  be  enamoured  of  some  beautiful  Place  of  Retreat,  in  the  Country  of  the 
Lakes. 

Well  may'st  thou  halt  —  and  gaze  with  brightening  eye! 

The  lovely  Cottage  in  the  guardian  nook 

Hath  stirred  thee  deeply  ;   with  its  own  dear  brook. 

Its  own  small  pasture,  almost  its  own  sky  ! 

But  covet  not  the  Abode  :  —  forbear  to  sigh, 

As  many  do,  repining  while  they  look  ; 

Intruders —  who  would  tear  from  Nature's  book 

This  precious  leaf,  with  harsh  impiety. 

Think  what  the  Home  must  be  if  it  were  thine, 

Even  thine,  though  few  thy  wants  !  —  Roof,  window,  door. 

The  very  flowers  are  sacred  to  the  Poor, 

The  roses  to  the  porch  which  they  entwine  : 


"  THE    WORLD   IS    TOO   MUCH  WITH  US."  323 

Yea.  all,  that  now  enchants  thee,  from  the  day 
On  which  it  should  be  touched,  would  melt  away. 

Before  1807. 


The  world  is  too  much  with  us  :   late  and  soon. 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers : 
Little  we  see  in  Nature  that  is  ours  ; 
We  have  given  our  hearts  away,  a  sordid  boon  ! 
This  Sea  that  bares  her  bosom  to  the  moon  ; 
The  winds  that  will  be  howling  at  all  hours, 
And  are  up-gathered  now  like  sleeping  flowers ; 
For  this,  for  every  thing,  we  are  out  of  tune ; 
It  moves  us  not.  —  Great  God  !   I  'd  rather  be 
A  Pagan  suckled  in  a  creed  outworn  ; 
So  might  I,  standing  on  this  pleasant  lea, 
Have  glimpses  that  would  make  me  less  forlorn  : 
Have  sight  of  Proteus  rising  from  the  sea  ; 
Or  hear  old  Triton  blow  his  wreathed  horn. 

Before  1807. 


TO    SLEEP. 


A  FLOCK  of  sheep  that  leisurely  pass  by, 
One  after  one  ;  the  sound  of  rain,  and  bees 
Murmuring  ;  the  fall  of  rivers,  winds  and  seas, 
Smooth  fields,  white  sheets  of  water,  and  pure  sky ; 
I  have  thought  of  all  by  turns,  and  yet  do  lie 
Sleepless  !  and  soon  the  small  birds'  melodies 
Must  hear,  first  uttered  from  my  orchard  trees  ; 
And  the  first  cuckoo's  melancholy  cry. 
Even  thus  last  night,  and  two  nights  more,  I  lay, 


32  4 


"WHERE   LIES    THE   LAND?" 

And  could  not  win  thee,  Sleep  !  by  any  stealth  : 
So  do  not  let  me  wear  to-night  away  : 
Without  Thee  what  is  all  the  morning's  wealth  ? 
Come,  blessed  barrier  between  day  and  day, 
Dear  mother  of  fresh  thoughts  and  joyous  health  ! 

Before  1807. 


Where  lies  the  Land  to  which  yon  Ship  must  go  ? 

Fresh  as  a  lark  mounting  at  break  of  day, 

Festively  she  puts  forth  in  trim  array  ; 

Is  she  for  tropic  suns,  or  polar  snow  ? 

What  boots  the  inquiry?- — Neither  friend  nor  foe 

She  cares  for  ;  let  her  travel  where  she  may, 

She  finds  familiar  names,  a  beaten  way 

Ever  before  her,  and  a  wind  to  blow. 

Yet  still  I  ask,  what  haven  is  her  mark  ? 

And,  almost  as  it  was  when  ships  were  rare, 

(From  time  to  time,  like  Pilgrims,  here  and  there 

Crossing  the  waters)  doubt,  and  something  dark, 

Of  the  old  Sea  some  reverential  fear, 

Is  with  me  at  thy  farewell,  joyous  Bark  ! 

Before  1807. 


TO   THE    MEMORY   OF    RAISLEY    CALVERT. 

Calvert  !  it  must  not  be  unheard  by  them 
Who  may  respect  my  name,  that  I  to  thee 
Owed  many  years  of  early  liberty. 
This  care  was  thine  when  sickness  did  condemn 
Thy  youth  to  hopeless  wasting,  root  and  stem, — 


"  ME  THOUGHT  I  SAW   THE   FOOTSTEPS." 

That  I,  if  frugal  and  severe,  might  stray 
Wliere'er  I  liked  ;   and  finally  array 
My  temples  with  the  Muse's  diadem. 
Hence,  if  in  freedom  I  have  loved  the  truth  : 
If  there  be  aught  of  pure,  or  good,  or  great. 
In  my  past  verse  ;  or  shall  be,  in  the  lays 
Of  higher  mood  which  now  I  meditate  :  — 
It  gladdens  me,  O  worthy,  short-lived,  Youth  ! 
To  think  how  much  of  this  will  be  thy  praise. 

Before  1807. 


325 


Methought  I  saw  the  footsteps  of  a  throne 

Which  mists  and  vapours  from  mine  eyes  did  shroud 

Nor  view  of  who  might  sit  thereon  allowed; 

But  all  the  steps  and  ground  about  were  strown 

With  sights  the  ruefullest,  that  flesh  and  bone 

Ever  put  on  ;   a  miserable  crowd. 

Sick,  hale,  old,  young,  who  cried  before  that  cloud. 

"Thou  art  our  king,  O  Death  !  to  thee  we  groan.'' 

Those  steps  I  clomb  ;  the  mists  before  me  gave 

Smooth  way :  and  I  beheld  the  face  of  one 

Sleeping  alone  within  a  mossy  cave. 

With  her  face  up  to  heaven  ;  that  seemed  to  have 

Pleasing  remembrance  of  a  thought  foregone  ; 

A  lovely  Beauty  in  a  summer  grave  ! 

Before  1807. 


Brook  I  whose  society  the  Poet  seeks. 

Intent  his  wasted  spirits  to  renew  ; 

And  whom  the  curious  Painter  doth  pursue 

Through  rocky  passes,  among  flowery  creeks. 

And  tracks  thee  dancing  down  thy  waterbreaks  : 


126  TO   LADY  BEAUMONT. 

If  wish  were  mine  some  type  of  thee  to  view, 
Thee,  and  not  thee  thyself,  I  would  not  do 
Like  Grecian  Artists,  give  thee  human  cheeks. 
Channels  for  tears  :  no  Naiad  should'st  thou  be,  — 
Have  neither  limbs,  feet,  feathers,  joints  nor  hairs  : 
It  seems  the  Eternal  Soul  is  clothed  in  thee 
With  purer  robes  than  those  of  flesh  and  blood, 
And  hath  bestowed  on  thee  a  safer  good  ; 
Unwearied  joy.  and  life  without  its  cares. 

'Sob. 


TO    LADY    BEAUMONT. 

Lady  !  the  songs  of  Spring  were  in  the  grove 
While  I  was  shaping  beds  for  winter  flowers  ; 
While  I  vi'as  planting  green  unfading  bowers, 
And  shrubs  —  to  hang  upon  the  warm  alcove, 
And  sheltering  wall ;  and  still,  as  Fancy  wove 
The  dream,  to  time  and  nature's  blended  powers 
I  gave  this  paradise  for  winter  hours, 
A  labyrinth.  Lady  !  which  your  feet  shall  rove. 
Yes  !  when  the  sun  of  life  more  feebly  shines, 
Becoming  thoughts,  I  trust,  of  solemn  gloom 
Or  of  high  gladness  you  shall  hither  bring ; 
And  these  perennial  bowers  and  murmuring  pines 
Be  gracious  as  the  music  and  the  bloom 
And  all  the  mighty  ravishment  of  spring. 

1807. 


SURPRISED  B  Y  JO  Y~  IMP  A  I J  EN  T  A  S  THE  W/A'D."      327 
UPON    THE    SIGHT    OF  A    BEAUTIFUL    PICTURE. 

PAINTED    liV    SIR    G.    H.    HPtArMONT,    HART. 

Praised  be  the  Art  whose  subtle  power  could  stay 

Yon  cloud,  and  fix  it  in  that  glorious  shape  ; 

Nor  would  permit  the  thin  smoke  to  escape, 

Nor  those  bright  sunbeams  to  forsake  the  day  ; 

Which  stopped  that  band  of  travellers  on  their  way,  5 

Ere  they  were  lost  within  the  shady  wood ; 

And  showed  the  Bark  upon  the  glassy  flood 

For  ever  anchored  in  her  sheltering  bay. 

Soul-soothing  Art !  whom  Morning,  Noontide.  Even, 

Do  serve  with  all  their  changeful  pageantry  ;  10 

Thou,  with  ambition  modest  yet  sublime, 

Here,  for  the  sight  of  mortal  man,  hast  given 

To  one  brief  moment  caught  from  fleeting  time 

The  appropriate  calm  of  blest  eternity. 

1811. 


Surprised  by  joy — impatient  as  the  Wind 

I  turned  to  share  the  transport  —  Oh  !    with  whom 

But  Thee,  deep  buried  in  the  silent  tomb. 

That  spot  which  no  vicissitude  can  find  ? 

Love,  faithful  love,  recalled  thee  to  my  mind  — 

But  how  could  I  forget  thee  I  Through  what  power. 

Even  for  the  least  division  of  an  hour. 

Have  I  been  so  beguiled  as  to  be  blind 

To  my  most  grievous  loss?  —  That  thought's  return 

Was  the  worst  pang  that  sorrow  ever  bore. 

Save  one,  one  only,  when  I  stood  forlorn, 

Knowing  my  heart's  best  treasure  was  no  more  : 


^28  ' /lAJL  riVILIGHT!" 

That  neither  present  time,  nor  years  unborn 
Could  to  my  sight  that  heavenly  face  restore. 

After  June,  1812;  before  181 5. 


Hail,  Twilight,  sovereign  of  one  peaceful  hour ! 

Not  dull  art  Thou  as  undiscerning  Night ; 

But  studious  only  to  remove  from  sight 

Day's  mutable  distinctions. — Ancient  Power  ! 

Thus  did  the  waters  gleam,  the  mountains  lower. 

To  the  rude  Briton,  when,  in  wolf-skin  vest 

Here  roving  wild,  he  laid  him  down  to  rest 

On  the  bare  rock,  or  through  a  leafy  bower 

Looked  ere  his  eyes  were  closed.     By  him  was  seen 

The  self-same  Vision  which  we  now  behold, 

At  thy  meek  bidding,  shadowy  Power  !  brought  forth  : 

These  mighty  barriers,  and  the  gulf  between  ; 

The  flood,  the  stars,  —  a  spectacle  as  old 

As  the  beginning  of  the  heavens  and  earth ! 

Before  181 5. 


I  WATCH,  and  long  have  watched,  with  calm  regret 

Von  slowly-sinking  star  —  immortal  Sire 

(So  might  he  seem)  of  all  the  glittering  quire  1 

Blue  ether  still  surrounds  him — yet  —  and  yet ; 

But  now  the  horizon's  rocky  parapet 

Is  reached,  where,  forfeiting  his  bright  attire. 

He  burns  —  transmuted  to  a  dusky  fire  — 

Then  pays  submissively  the  appointed  debt 

To  the  flying  moments,  and  is  seen  no  more. 

Angels  and  gods  !     We  struggle  with  our  fate. 

While  health,  power,  glory,  from  their  height  decline, 

Depressed  ;  and  then  extinguished  ;  and  our  state. 


TO    B.  K.  HAYDON.  329 

In  this,  how  dififerent,  lost  Star,  from  thine. 
That  no  to-morrow  shall  our  beams  restore  1 

Between  181 5  and  18  ly. 


TO   B.   R.    HAVDOX. 

High  is  our  calling,  Friend  !  —  Creative  Art 

(Whether  the  instrument  of  words  she  use, 

Or  pencil  pregnant  with  ethereal  hues,) 

Demands  the  service  of  a  mind  and  heart. 

Though  sensitive,  yet,  in  their  weakest  part. 

Heroically  fashioned  —  to  infuse 

Faith  in  the  whispers  of  the  lonely  Muse, 

While  the  whole  world  seems  adverse  to  desert. 

And,  oh !  when  Nature  sinks,  as  oft  she  may, 

Through  long-lived  pressure  of  obscure  distress. 

Still  to  be  strenuous  for  the  bright  reward. 

And  in  the  soul  admit  of  no  decay, 

Brook  no  continuance  of  weak-mindedness  — 

Great  is  the  glory,  for  the  strife  is  hard  1 

iSi  5. 


NOVEMBER    i. 

How  clear,  how  keen,  how  marvellously  bright 
The  effluence  from  yon  distant  mountain's  head, 
Which,  strewn  with  snow  smooth  as  the  sky  can  shed, 
Shines  like  another  sun  —  on  mortal  sight 
Uprisen,  as  if  to  check  approaching  Night, 
And  all  her  twinkling  stars.     Who  now  would  treatl. 
If  so  he  might,  yon  mountain's  glittering  head  — 
Terrestrial,  but  a  surface,  by  the  flight 


33° 


THE    RIVER    DUDDON. 


Of  sad  mortality's  earth-sullying  wing, 

Unswept,  unstained  ?     Nor  shall  the  aerial  Powers 

Dissolve  that  beauty,  destined  to  endure, 

White,  radiant,  spotless,  exquisitely  pure, 

Through  all  vicissitudes,  till  genial  Spring 

Has  filled  the  laughing  vales  with  welcome  flowers. 

1815. 


THE    RIVER    DUDDON. 
I. 

Sole  listener,  Duddon  !  to  the  breeze  that  played 
With  thy  clear  voice,  I  caught  the  fitful  sound 
Wafted  o'er  sullen  moss  and  craggy  mound  — 
Unfruitful  solitudes,  that  seemed  to  upbraid 
The  sun  in  heaven  ! — but  now,  to  form  a  shade 
For  Thee,  green  alders  have  together  wound 
Their  foliage ;  ashes  flung  their  arms  around  ; 
And  birch-trees  risen  in  silver  colonnade. 
And  thou  hast  also  tempted  here  to  rise, 
'Mid  sheltering  pines,  this  Cottage  rude  and  grey  ; 
Whose  ruddy  children,  by  the  mother's  eyes 
Carelessly  watched,  sport  through  the  summer  day. 
Thy  pleased  associates  :  —  light  as  endless  May 
On  infant  bosoms  lonely  Nature  lies. 


II. 
The  Plain  of  Donnerdale. 

The  old  inventive  Poets,  had  they  seen. 

Or  rather  felt,  the  entrancement  that  detains 

Thy  waters,  Duddon  !  'mid  these  flowery  plains 


THE    RIVER   DUD  DON.  331 

The  still  repose,  the  liquid  lapse  serene, 

Transferred  to  bowers  imperishably  green,  \ 

Had  beautified  Elysium  !     But  these  chains 

Will  soon  be  broken  ;  —  a  rough  course  remains, 

Rough  as  the  past  ;  where  Thou,  of  placid  mien. 

Innocuous  as  a  firstling  of  the  flock, 

And  countenanced  like  a  soft  cerulean  sky,  'c 

Shalt  change  thy  temper;  and  with  many  a  shock 

Given  and  received  in  mutual  jeopardy, 

Dance,  like  a  Bacchanal,  from  rock  to  rock. 

Tossing  her  frantic  thyrsus  wide  and  high  ! 


III. 

Return,  Content  !  for  fondly  I  pursued, 

Even  when  a  child,  the  Streams  —  unheard,  unseen ; 

Through  tangled  woods,  impending  rocks  between; 

Or,  free  as  air,  with  flying  inquest  viewed 

The  sullen  reservoirs  whence  their  bold  brood  — 

Pure  as  the  morning,  fretful,  boisterous,  keen. 

Green  as  the  salt-sea  billows,  white  and  green  — 

Poured  down  the  hills,  a  choral  multitude  ! 

Nor  have  I  tracked  their  course  for  scanty  gains  ; 

They  taught  me  random  cares  and  truant  joys, 

That  shield  from  mischief  and  preserve  from  stains 

Vague  minds,  while  men  are  growing  out  of  boys  ; 

Maturer  Fancy  owes  to  their  rough  noise 

Impetuous  thoughts  that  brook  not  servile  reins. 


332 


BETWEEN  NAMUR  AND  LJEGE. 

IV. 

After-Thought. 

I  THOUGHT  of  Thee,  my  partner  and  my  guide, 

As  being  past  away.  —  Vain  sympathies  ! 

For,  backward,  Duddon  !  as  I  cast  my  eyes, 

1  see  what  was,  and  is,  and  will  abide  ; 

Still  glides  the  Stream,  and  shall  for  ever  glide  ; 

The  Form  remains,  the  Function  never  dies  ; 

While  we,  the  brave,  the  mighty,  and  the  wise, 

We  Men,  who  in  our  morn  of  youth  defied 

The  elements,  must  vanish  ;  — be  it  so  ! 

Enough,  if  something  from  our  hands  have  power 

To  live,  and  act,  and  serve  the  future  hour  ; 

And  if,  as  toward  the  silent  tomb  we  go. 

Through  love,  through  hope,  and  faith's  transcendent 

dower. 
We  feel  that  we  are  greater  than  we  know. 

Between  1806  and  1820. 


BETWEEN    NAMUR    AND    LIEGE. 

What  lovelier  home  could  gentle  Fancy  choose  ? 
Is  this  the  stream,  whose  cities,  heights,  and  plains. 
War's  favourite  playground,  are  with  crimson  stains 
Familiar,  as  the  Morn  with  pearly  dews  ? 
The  Morn,  that  now,  along  the  silver  Meuse, 
Spreading  her  peaceful  ensigns,  calls  the  swains 
To  tend  their  silent  boats  and  ringing  wains, 
Or  strip  the  bough  whose  mellow  fruit  bestrews 
The  ripening  corn  beneath  it.     As  mine  eyes 
Turn  from  the  fortified  and  threatening  hill. 
How  sweet  the  prospect  of  yon  watery  glade. 
With  its  grey  rocks  clustering  in  pensive  shade  — 


LONG   MEG    AND    HER    DAUGJ^rfERS.  333 

That,  shaped  like  old  monastic  turrets,  rise 
From  the  smooth  meadow-ground,  serene  and  still  ! 

r82i. 


THE  MONUMENT  COMMONLY  CALLED  LONG  MEG 

AND  HER  DAUGHTERS,  NEAR  THE 

RIVER  EDEN. 

A  WEIGHT  of  awe,  not  easy  to  be  borne, 

Fell  suddenly  upon  my  Spirit  —  cast 

From  the  dread  bosom  of  the  unknown  past, 

When  first  I  saw  that  family  forlorn. 

Speak  Thou,  whose  massy  strength  and  stature  scorn 

The  power  of  years  —  pre-eminent,  and  placed 

Apart,  to  overlook  the  circle  vast- — 

Speak,  Giant-mother  !  tell  it  to  the  Morn 

While  she  dispels  the  cumbrous  shades  of  Night ; 

Let  the  Moon  hear,  emerging  from  a  cloud ; 

At  whose  behest  uprose  on  British  ground 

That  Sisterhood,  in  hieroglyphic  round 

Forth-shadowing,  some  have  deemed,  the  infinite 

The  inviolable  God,  that  tames  the  proud  ! 

1821. 


.SECLUSION. 


Lance,  shield,  and  sword  relinquished,  at  his  side 

A  bead-roll,  in  his  hand  a  clasped  book. 

Or  staff  more  harmless  than  a  shepherd's  crook. 

The  war-worn  Chieftain  quits  the  world  —  to  hide 

His  thin  autumnal  locks  where  Monks  abide 

Tn  cloistered  privacy.      But  not  to  dwell 


3  3  4  ^^  ^^  US  I  ON. 

In  soft  repose  he  comes  :    within  his  cell, 

Round  the  decaying  trunk  of  human  pride, 

At  morn,  and  eve,  and  midnight's  silent  hour, 

Do  penitential  cogitations  cling  ; 

Like  ivy,  round  some  ancient  elm,  they  twine 

In  grisly  folds  and  strictures  serpentine  ; 

Yet,  while  they  strangle,  a  fair  growth  they  bring, 

For  recompence  —  their  own  perennial  bower. 


CONTINUED. 


Methinks  that  to  some  vacant  hermitage 
My  feet  would  rather  turn  —  to  some  dry  nook 
Scooped  out  of  living  rock,  and  near  a  brook 
Hurled  down  a  mountain-cove  from  stage  to  stage. 
Yet  tempering,  for  my  sight,  its  bustling  rage 
In  the  soft  heaven  of  a  translucent  pool ; 
Thence  creeping  .under  sylvan  arches  cool, 
Fit  haunt  of  shapes  whose  glorious  equipage 
Would  elevate  my  dreams.     A  beechen  bowl, 
A  maple  dish,  my  furniture  should  be  ; 
Crisp,  yellow  leaves  my  bed  ;  the  hooting  owl 
My  night-watch  :  nor  should  e'er  the  crested  fowl 
From  thorp  or  vill  his  matins  sound  for  me, 
Tired  of  the  world  and  all  its  industrv. 


MUTABILITY.  335 


RURAL    CEREMONY. 


Content  with  calmer  scenes  around  us  spread 

And  humbler  objects,  give  we  to  a  day 

Of  annual  joy  one  tributary  lay ; 

This  day,  when,  forth  by  rustic  music  led. 

The  village  Children,  while  the  sky  is  red 

With  evening  lights,  advance  in  long  array 

Through  the  still  churchyard,  each  with  garland  gay, 

That,  carried  sceptre-like,  o'ertops  the  head 

Of  the  proud  Bearer.     To  the  wide  church-door. 

Charged  with  these  offerings  which  their  fathers  bore 

For  decoration  in  the  Papal  time. 

The  innocent  procession  softly  moves  :  — 

The  spirit  of  Laud  is  pleased  in  heaven's  pure  clime, 

And  Hooker's  voice  the  spectacle  approves  ! 

1821. 


MUTABILITY. 


FroiM  low  to  high  doth  dissolution  climb, 

And  sink  from  high  to  low^,  along  a  scale 

Of  awful  notes,  whose  concord  shall  not  fail; 

A  musical  but  melancholy  chime. 

Which  they  can  hear  who  meddle  not  with  crime. 

Nor  avarice,  nor  over-anxious  care. 

Truth  fails  not ;  but  her  outward  forms  that  bear 

The  longest  date  do  melt  like  frosty  rime. 

That  in  the  morning  whitened  hill  and  plain 

And  is  no  more  ;  drop  like  the  tower  sublime 

Of  yesterday,  which  royally  did  wear 

His  crown  of  weeds,  but  could  not  even  sustain 

Some  casual  shout  that  broke  the  silent  air, 

Or  the  unimaginable  touch  of  Time. 


336        A /AG'S   COLLEGE    CHAPEL,   CAMBRIDGE. 

INSIDE   OF   KING'S    COLLEGE    CHAPEL,    CAMBRIDGE. 

Tax  not  the  royal  Saint  with  vain  expense, 

With  ill-matched  aims  the  Architect  who  planned  — 

Albeit  labouring  for  a  scanty  band 

Of  white-robed  Scholars  only  —  this  immense 

And  glorious  Work  of  fine  intelligence  !• 

Give  all  thou  canst ;  high  Heaven  rejects  the  lore 

Of  nicely-calculated  less  or  more  ; 

So  deemed  the  man  who  fashioned  for  the  sense 

These  lofty  pillars,  spread  that  branching  roof 

Self-poised,  and  scooped  into  ten  thousand  cells. 

Where  light  and  shade  repose,  where  music  dwells 

Lingering  —  and  wandering  on  as  loth  to  die; 

Like  thoughts  w'hose  very  sweetness  yieldeth  proof 

That  they  were  born  for  immortality. 


THE    SAME. 


What  awful  perspective  !  while  from  our  sight 
With  gradual  stealth  the  lateral  windows  hide 
Their  Portraitures,  their  stone-work  glimmers,  dyed 
In  the  soft  chequerings  of  a  sleepy  light. 
Martyr,  or  King,  or  sainted  Eremite, 
Whoe'er  ye  be,  that  thus,  yourselves  unseen, 
Imbue  your  prison-bars  with  solemn  sheen, 
Shine  on,  until  ye  fade  with  coming  Night !  — 
But,  from  the  arms  of  silence  —  list!  O  list  ! 
The  music  bursteth  into  second  life  ; 
The  notes  luxuriate,  every  stone  is  kissed 
By  sound,  or  ghost  of  sound,  in  mazy  strife  ; 
Heart-thrilling  strains,  that  cast,  before  the  eye 
Of  the  devout,  a  veil  of  ecstasy ! 


A    PARSONAGE   IN   OXFORDSHIRE.  337 


(ONI  INL'ED. 


They  dreamt  not  of  a  perishable  home 

Who  thus  could  build.     Be  mine,  in  hours  of  fear 

Or  grovelling  thought,  to  seek  a  refuge  here  ; 

Or  through  the  aisles  of  Westminster  to  roam  : 

Where  bubbles  burst,  and  folly's  dancing  foam 

Melts,  if  it  cross  the  threshold ;  where  the  wreath 

Of  awe-struck  wisdom  droops  :  or  let  my  path 

Lead  to  that  younger  Pile,  whose  sky-like  dome 

Hath  typified  by  reach  of  daring  art 

Infinity's  embrace  ;  whose  guardian  crest. 

The  silent  Cross,  among  the  stars  shall  spread 

As  now,  when  She  hath  also  seen  her  breast 

Filled  with  mementos,  satiate  with  its  part 

Of  grateful  England's  overflowing  Dead. 

1S20-21. 


A    PARSONAGE   IN   OXFORDSHIRE. 

W^HERE  holy  ground  begins,  unhallowed  ends. 

Is  marked  by  no  distinguishable  line  : 

The  turf  unites,  the  pathways  intertwine  ; 

And,  wheresoe'er  the  stealing  footstep  tends. 

Garden,  and  that  domain  where  kindred,  friends, 

And  neighbours  rest  together,  here  confound 

Their  several  fentures,  mingled  like  the  sound 

Of  many  waters,  or  as  evening  blends 

With  shady  night.     Soft  airs  from  shrub  and  flower. 

Waft  fragrant  greetings  to  each  silent  grave  ; 

And  while  those  lofty  poplars  gently  wave 

Their  tops,  between  them  comes  and  goes  a  sky 

Bright  as  the  glimpses  of  eternity, 

To  saints  accorded  in  their  mortal  hour.  jg^^ 


^^8  "NOT  LOVE,  NOT  VVARr 

A  VOLANT  Tribe  of  Bards  on  earth  are  found, 
Who,  while  the  flattering  Zephyrs  round  them  play. 
On  "  coignes  of  vantage  "  hang  their  nests  of  clay  ; 
How  quickly  from  that  aery  hold  unbound. 
Dust  for  oblivion  !     To  the  solid  ground 
Of  nature  trusts  the  Mind  that  builds  for  aye  ; 
Convinced  that  there,  there  only,  she  can  lay 
Secure  foundations.     As  the  year  runs  round, 
Apart  she  toils  within  the  chosen  ring ; 
While  the  stars  shine,  or  while  day's  purple  eye 
Is  gently  closing  with  the  flowers  of  spring ; 
Where  even  the  motion  of  an  Angel's  wing 
Would  interrupt  the  intense  tranquillity 
Of  silent  hills,  and  more  than  silent  sky. 

1823,  or  earlier. 


Not  Love,  not  War,  nor  the  tumultuous  swell, 
Of  civil  conflict,  nor  the  wrecks  of  change, 
Nor  Duty  struggling  with  afflictions  strange- — 
Not  these  ahvie  inspire  the  tuneful  shell ; 
But  where  untroubled  peace  and  concord  dwell, 
There  also  is  the  Muse  not  loth  to  range. 
Watching  the  twilight  smoke  of  cot  or  grange, 
Skyward  ascending  from  a  woody  dell. 
Meek  aspirations  please  her,  lone  endeavour. 
And  sage  content,  and  placid  melancholy  ; 
She  loves  to  gaze  upon  a  crystal  river  — 
Diaphanous  because  it  travels  slowly; 
Soft  is  the  music  that  would  charm  for  ever  ; 
The  flower  of  sweetest  smell  is  shy  and  lowly. 

^  1823,  or  earlier. 


"SCORN  NOT   THE  SONNET."  339 

TO  [LADY   FITZGERALD],  IN   HER  SEVENTIETH  YEAR. 

Such  age  how  beautiful  !     O  Lady  bright, 

Whose  mortal  lineaments  seem  all  refined 

By  favouring  Nature  and  a  saintly  Mind 

To  something  purer  and  more  exquisite 

Than  flesh  and  blood  ;  whene'er  thou  meet'st  my  sight,      5 

When  I  behold  thy  blanched  unwithered  cheek. 

Thy  temples  fringed  with  locks  of  gleaming  white. 

And  head  that  droops  because  the  soul  is  meek, 

Thee  with  the  welcome  Snowdrop  I  compare  ; 

That  child  of  winter,  prompting  thoughts  that  climb        'o 

From  desolation  toward  the  genial  prime ; 

.     Or  with  the  Moon  conquering  earth's  misty  air, 

And  filling  more  and  more  with  crystal  light 

As  pensive  Evening  deepens  into  night. 

1824. 


Scorn  not  the  Sonnet ;  Critic,  you  have  frowned, 

Mindless  of  its  just  honours  ;  with  this  key 

Shakspeare  unlocked  his  heart :  the  melody 

Of  this  small  lute  gave  ease  to  Petrarch's  wound  ; 

A  thousand  times  this  pipe  did  Tasso  sound  ; 

With  it  Camoens  soothed  an  exile's  grief  ; 

The  Sonnet  glittered  a  gay  myrtle  leaf 

Amid  the  cypress  with  which  Dante  crowned 

His  visionary  brow  :   a  glow-worm  lamp. 

It  cheered  mild  Spenser,  called  from  Faeryland 

To  struggle  through  dark  ways  ;  and,  when  a  damp 

Fell  round  the  path  of  Milton,  in  his  hand 

The  Thing  became  a  trumpet ;  whence  he  blew 

Soul-animating  strains  —  alas,  too  few  ! 

Kefore  18^:7. 


340  "/A"  A/y  MIND'S   EYE   A    TEMPLE." 

TO    ROTHA    QUILLINAN. 

RoTHA,  my  Spiritual  Child  !  this  head  was  grey 

When  at  the  sacred  font  for  thee  I  stood  ; 

Pledged  till  thou  reach  the  verge  of  womanhood. 

And  shalt  become  thy  own  sufficient  stay : 

Too  late,  I  feel,  sweet  Orphan  !  was  the  day 

For  stedfast  hope  the  contract  to  fulfil  ; 

Yet  shall  my  blessing  hover  o'er  thee  still, 

Embodied  in  the  music  of  this  Lay, 

Breathed  forth  beside  the  peaceful  mountain  Stream 

Whose  murmur  soothed  thy  languid  Mother's  ear 

After  her  throes,  this  Stream  of  name  more  dear 

Since  thou  dost  bear  it,  —  a  memorial  theme 

For  others  ;  for  thy  future  self,  a  spell 

To  summon  fancies  out  of  Time's  dark  cell. 

Before  1827. 


In  my  mind's  eye  a  Temple,  like  a  cloud 

Slowly  surmounting  some  invidious  hill. 

Rose  out  of  darkness  :  the  bright  Work  stood  still : 

And  might  of  its  own  beauty  have  been  proud, 

But  it  was  fashioned  and  to  God  was  vowed 

By  Virtues  that  diffused,  in  every  part, 

Spirit  divine  through  forms  of  human  art  : 

Faith  had  her  arch  —  her  arch,  when  winds  blow  loud, 

Into  the  consciousness  of  safety  thrilled  ; 

And  Love  her  towers  of  dread  foundation  laid 

Under  the  grave  of  things  ;   Hope  had  her  spire 

Star-high,  and  pointing  still  to  something  higher; 

Trembling  I  gazed,  but  heard  a  voice  —  it  said, 

*'  Hell-gates  are  powerless  Phantoms  when  we  build." 

Before  1827. 


THE    TROSSACHS. 

ON   THE    DEPARTUKF:    of  sir    WALTER   SCOTT 
FROM    ABBOTSFORD,    FOR    NAPLES.      ■ 

A  TROUBLE,  not  of  clouds,  or  weeping  rain, 

Nor  of  the  setting  sun's  pathetic  light 

Engendered,  hangs  o'er  Eildon's  triple  height  : 

Spirits  of  Power,  assembled  there,  complain 

For  kindred  Power  departing  from  their  sight  ; 

While  Tweed,  best  pleased  in  chanting  a  blithe  strain. 

Saddens  his  voice  again,  and  yet  again. 

Lift  up  your  hearts,  ye  Mourners !  for  the  might 

Of  the  whole  world's  good  wishes  with  him  goes  ; 

Blessings  and  prayers,  in  nobler  retinue 

Than  sceptred  king  or  laurelled  conqueror  knows 

Follow  this  wondrous  Potentate.      Be  true. 

Ye  winds  of  ocean,  and  the  midland  sea, 

Wafting  your  Charge  to  soft  Parthenope  ! 

i8;i. 


341 


THE   TROSSACHS. 

There's  not  a  nook  within  this  solemn  Pass 

But  were  an  apt  confessional  for  One 

Taught  by  his  summer  spent,  his  autumn  gone, 

That  Life  is  but  a  tale  of  morning  grass 

Withered  at  eve.     From  scenes  of  art  which  chase 

That  thought  away,  turn,  and  with  watchful  eyes 

Feed  it  'mid  Nature's  old  felicities. 

Rocks,  rivers,  and  smooth  lakes  more  clear  than  glass 

Untouched,  unbreathed  upon.     Thrice  happy  quest. 

If  from  a  golden  perch  of  aspen  spray 

(October's  workmanship  to  rival  May) 

The  pensive  warbler  of  the  ruddy  breast 


34^ 


"THE   PIBROCH'S  NOTE." 


That  moral  sweeten  by  a  heaven-taught  lay, 

Lulling  the  year,  with  all  its  cares,  to  rest ! 

1831. 


The  pibroch's  note,  discountenanced  or  mute  ; 

The  Roman  kilt,  degraded  to  a  toy 

Of  quaint  apparel  for  a  half-spoilt  boy ; 

The  target  mouldering  like  ungathered  fruit ; 

The  smoking  steam-boat  eager  in  pursuit, 

As  eagerly  pursued  ;  the  umbrella  spread 

To  weather-fend  the  Celtic  herdsman's  head  — 

All  speak  of  manners  withering  to  the  root. 

And  of  old  honours,  too,  and  passions  high  : 

Then  may  we  ask,  though  pleased  that  thought  should 

range 

Among  the  conquests  of  civility, 

Survives  imagination  —  to  the  change 

Superior  ?     Help  to  virtue  does  she  give  ? 

If  not,  O  Mortals,  better  cease  to  live  ! 

1831. 


EAGLES. 

COMPOSED    AT    DUNOLLIE   CASTLE    IN    THE    BAY  OF    OBAN. 

Di.SHONOURED  Rock  and  Ruin  !  that,  by  law 
Tyrannic,  keep  the  Bird  of  Jove  embarred 
Like  a  lone  criminal  whose  life  is  spared. 
Vexed  is  he,  and  screams  loud.     The  last  I  saw 
Was  on  the  wing  ;  stooping,  he  struck  with  awe 
Man,  bird,  and  beast  ;  then,  with  a  consort  paired. 
From  a  bold  headland,  their  loved  aery's  guard, 
Flew  high  above  Atlantic  waves,  to  draw 


HIGHLAND    HUT.  343 

Light  from  the  fountain  of  the  setting  sun. 

Such  was  this  Prisoner  once  ;  and,  when  his  plumes     10 

The  sea-blast  rufifles  as  the  storm  comes  on, 

Then,  for  a  moment,  he,  in  spirit,  resumes 

His  rank  'mong  freeborn  creatures  that  live  free, 

His  power,  his  beautv,  and  his  majesty. 

1831. 


HIGHLAND    HUT. 

See  what  gay  wild  flowers  deck  this  earth-built  Cot, 

Whose  smoke,  forth-issuing  whence  and  how  it  may. 

Shines  in  the  greeting  of  the  sun's  first  ray 

Like  wreaths  of  vapour  without  stain  or  blot. 

The  limpid  mountain-rill  avoids  it  not ; 

And  why  shouldst  thou  ?  —  If  rightly  trained  and  bred, 

Humanity  is  humble,  finds  no  spot 

Which  her  Heaven-guided  feet  refuse  to  tread. 

The  walls  are  cracked,  sunk  is  the  flowery  roof. 

Undressed  the  pathway  leading  to  the  door  ; 

But  love,  as  Nature  loves,  the  lonely  Poor : 

Search,  for  their  worth,  some  gentle  heart  wrong-proof. 

Meek,  patient,  kind,  and,  were  its  trials  fewer, 

Belike  less  happy.  — ■  Stand  no  more  aloof  ! 

1831. 


TO   THE  PLANET    VENUS,    AN    EVENING    STAR. 

COMPOSED    AT    LOCH    LOMOND. 

Though  joy  attend  Thee  orient  at  the  birth 

Of  dawn,  it  cheers  the  lofty  spirit  most 

To  watch  thy  course  when  Day-light,  fled  from  earth. 


344  ROMAN  ANTJQUJTIES. 

In  the  grey  sky  hath  left  his  lingering  Ghost, 

Perplexed  as  if  between  a  splendour  lost 

And  splendour  slowly  mustering.     Since  the  Sun, 

The  absolute,  the  world-absorbing  One, 

Relinquished  half  his  empire  to  the  host 

Emboldened  by  thy  guidance,  holy  Star, 

Holy  as  princely  —  who  that  looks  on  thee, 

Touching,  as  now,  in  thy  humility 

The  mountain  borders  of  this  seat  of  care. 

Can  question  that  thy  countenance  is  bright, 

Celestial  Power,  as  much  with  love  as  light  ? 


1831. 


ROMAN    ANTIQUITIES. 

FROM    THE    ROMAN    STATION    AT    OLD    PENRITH. 

How  profitless  the  relics  that  we  cull, 

Troubling  the  last  holds  of  ambitious  Rome, 

Unless  they  chasten,  fancies  that  presume 

Too  high,  or  idle  agitations  lull  ! 

Of  the  world's  flatteries  if  the  brain  be  full. 

To  have  no  seat  for  thought  were  better  doom. 

Like  this  old  helmet,  or  the  eyeless  skull 

Of  him  who  gloried  in  its  nodding  plume. 

Heaven  out  of  view,  our  wishes  what  are  they  ? 

Our  fond  regrets,  tenacious  in  their  grasp  ? 

The  Sage's  theory  ?  the  Poet's  lay  ? 

Mere  Fibulas  without  a  robe  to  clasp ; 

Obsolete  lamps,  whose  light  no  time  recalls  ; 

Urns  without  ashes,  tearless  lacrymals  ! 

1831. 


IN  SIGH'l'  OF  THE    TOlV\  OF  COCKERMOUTH.        345 

TO    THE    AUTHOR'S    PORTRAIT. 

Painted  at  Rydal  Mount,  by  W.  Pickersgill.  Esq..  for  .St.  John's  College, 
Cambridge. 

Go,  faithful  Portrait  !  and  where  long  hath  knelt 

Margaret,  the  Saintly  Foundress,  take  thy  place ; 

And,  if  Time  spare  the  colours  for  the  grace 

\\'hich  to  the  work  surpassing  skill  hath  dealt. 

Thou,  on  thy  rock  reclined,  though  kingdoms  melt        5 

And  states  be  torn  up  by  the  roots,  wilt  seem 

To  breathe  in  rural  peace,  to  hear  the  stream. 

And  think  and  feel  as  once. the  Poet  felt. 

Whatever  thy  fate,  those  features  have  not  grown 

Unrecognized  through  many  a  household  tear  10 

More  prompt,  more  glad,  to  fall  than  drops  of  dew 

By  morning  shed  around  a  flower  half-blown  : 

Tears  of  delight,  that  testified  how  true 

To  life  thou  art,  and,  in  thy  truth  how  dear  I 

1832. 


IN    SIGHT   OF   THE   TOWX    OF    COCKERMOUTH. 

A  POINT  of  life  between  my  Parent's  dust. 

And  yours,  my  buried  Little-ones  !  am  1  ; 

And  to  those  graves  looking  habitually 

In  kindred  quiet  I  repose  my  trust. 

Death  to  the  innocent  is  more  than  just. 

And,  to  the  sinner,  mercifully  bent ; 

So  may  I  hope,  if  truly  I  repent 

And  meekly  bear  the  ills  which  bear  I  must : 

And  You,  my  Offspring!    that  do  still  remain. 

Yet  may  outstrip  me  in  the  appointed  race. 

If  e'er,  through  fault  of  mine,  in  mutual  pain 


346  .UAA'y   QUEEN  OE  SC07S. 

We  breathed  together  for  a  moment's  space. 

The  wrong,  by  love  provoked,  let  love  arraign. 

And  only  love  keep  in  your  hearts  a  place. 

1833. 


MARY    QUEEN    OF    SCOTS. 

LANDING    AT   THE    MOUTH    OF   THE    DERWENT,    WORKINGTON. 

Dear  to  the  Loves,  and  to  the  Graces  vowed, 
The  Queen  drew  back  the  wimple  that  she  wore  ; 
And  to  the  throng,  that  on  the  Cumbrian  shore 
Her  landing  hailed,  how  touchingly  she  bowed  ! 
And  like  a  Star  (that,  from  a  heavy  cloud 
Of  pine-tree  foliage  poised  in  air,  forth  darts. 
When  a  soft  summer  gale  at  evening  parts 
The  gloom  that  did  its  loveliness  enshroud) 
She  smiled ;  but  Time,  the  old  Saturnian  seer. 
Sighed  on  the  wing  as  her  foot  pressed  the  strand, 
With  step  prelusive  to  a  long  array 
Of  woes  and  degradations  hand  in  hand  — 
Weeping  captivity,  and  shuddering  fear 
Stilled  by  the  ensanguined  block  of  Fotheringay  ! 

1833- 


Desire  we  past  illusions  to  recall  ? 

To  reinstate  wild  Fancy,  would  we  hide 

Truths  whose  thick  veil  Science  has  drawn  aside  ? 

No,  —  let  this  Age,  high  as  she  may,  instal 

In  her  esteem  the  thirst  that  wrought  man's  fall, 

The  universe  is  infinitely  wide  ; 

And  conquering  Reason,  if  self-glorified, 


BY    THE   SEASHORE,   ISLE    OE  MAN.  347 

Can  nowhere  move  uncrossed  by  some  new  wall 

Or  gulf  of  mystery,  which  thou  alone. 

Imaginative  Faith  !  canst  overleap,  10 

In  progress  toward  the  fount  of  Love,  — the  throne 

Of  Power  whose  ministers  the  records  keep 

Of  periods  fixed,  and  laws  established,  less 

Flesh  to  exalt  than  prove  its  nothingness. 

18  :!^ 


BY    THE    SEASHORE,    ISLE    OF   MAN. 

Why  stand  we  gazing  on  the  sparkling  Brine, 

With  wonder  smit  by  its  transparency, 

And  all-enraptured  with  its  purity  ?  — 

Because  the  unstained,  the  clear,  the  crystalline, 

Have  ever  in  them  something  of  benign  ; 

Whether  in  gem,  in  water,  or  in  sky, 

A  sleeping  infant's  brow,  or  wakeful  eye 

Of  a  young  maiden,  only  not  divine. 

Scarcely  the  hand  forbears  to  dip  its  palm 

For  beverage  drawn  as  from  a  mountain-well  ; 

Temptation  centres  in  the  liquid  Calm ; 

Our  daily  raiment  seems  no  obstacle 

To  instantaneous  plunging  in,  deep  Sea  ! 

And  revelling  in  long  embrace  with  thee.^ 

1833 


"  There  ! "  said  a  Stripling,  pointing  w-ith  meet  pride 
Towards  a  low  roof  with  green  trees  half  concealed, 
"  Is  Mosgiel  Farm  ;  and  that 's  the  very  field 

^  The  sea-water  on  the  coast  of  the  Isle  of  Man  is  singularly  pure 
and  beautiful. 


348  "TRAXQUILITY!    7'I/£   SOVEREIGX  A/M." 

Where  Burns  ploughed  up  the  Daisy. ""      Far  and  wide 
A  plain  below  stretched  seaward,  while,  descried 
Above  sea-clouds,  the  Peaks  of  Arran  rose  ; 
And,  by  that  simple  notice,  the  repose 
Of  earth,  sky,  sea,  and  air,  was  vivified. 
Beneath  "  the  random  bield  of  clod  or  stone  " 
Myriads  of  daisies  have  shone  forth  in  fiower 
Near  the  lark's  nest,  and  in  their  natural  hour 
Have  passed  away  ;  less  happy  than  the  One 
That,  by  the  unwilling  ploughshare,  died  to  prove 
The  tender  charm  of  poetrv  and  love. 

1833- 


Tranquillity  !  the  sovereign  aim  wert  thou 

In  heathen  schools  of  philosophic  lore  ; 

Heart-stricken  by  stern  destiny  of  yore 

The  Tragic  Muse  thee  served  with  thoughtful  vow 

And  what  of  hope  Elysium  could  allow 

Was  fondly  seized  by  Sculpture,  to  restore 

Peace  to  the  Mourner.     But  when  He  who  wore 

The  crown  of  thorns  around  his  bleeding  brow 

Warmed  our  sad  being  with  celestial  light. 

Then  Arts  which  still  had  drawn  a  softening  grace 

From  shadowy  fountains  of  the  Infinite, 

Communed  with  that  Idea  face  to  face  : 

And  move  around  it  now  as  planets  run, 

Each  in  its  orbit  round  the  central  Sun. 

.     1833. 


Most  sweet  it  is  with  unuplifted  eyes 

To  pace  the  ground,  if  path  be  there  or  none, 

While  a  fair  region  round  the  traveller  lies 


COMPOSED    ON  A    MAY  MORNING.  349 

Which  he  forbears  again  to  look  upon  : 

Pleased  rather  with  some  soft  ideal  scene,  5 

The  work  of  Fancy,  or  some  happy  tone 

Of  meditation,  slipping  in  between 

The  beauty  coming  and  the  beauty  gone. 

If  Thought  and  Love  desert  us,  from  that  day 

Let  us  break  off  all  commerce  with  the  Muse  :  10 

With  Thought  and  Love  companions  of  our  way, 

Whate'er  the  senses  take  or  may  refuse. 

The  Mind's  internal  heaven  shall  shed  her  dews 

Of  inspiration  on  the  humblest  lay. 

1833- 


COMPOSED    ON    A    MAY    MORNING, 
1838. 

Life  with  yon  Lambs,  like  day,  is  just  begun. 
Yet  Nature  seems  to  them  a  heavenly  guide. 
Does  joy  approach  ?  they  meet  the  coming  tide  ; 
And  sullenness  avoid,  as  now  they  shun 
Pale  twilight's  lingering  glooms,  —  and  in  the  sun 
Couch  near  their  dams,  with  quiet  satisfied  ; 
Or  gambol  —  each  with  his  shadow  at  his  side, 
Varying  its  shape  wherever  he  may  run. 
As  they  from  turf  yet  hoar  with  sleepy  dew 
All  turn,  and  court  the  shining  and  the  green, 
Where  herbs  look  up,  and  opening  flowers  are  seen  ; 
Why  to  God's  goodness  cannot  We  be  true. 
And  so,  His  gifts  and  promises  between. 
Feed  to  the  last  on  pleasures  ever  new  ? 


35 o       THE   PINE    OE  MONTE   MARIO   AT  ROME. 

A  FoET  ! —  He  hath  put  his  heart  to  school, 

Nor  dares  to  move  unpropped  upon  the  staff 

Which  Art  hath  lodged  within  his  hand —  must  laugh 

By  precept  only,  and  shed  tears  by  rule. 

Thy  Art  be  Nature  ;  the  live  current  quaff, 

And  let  the  groveller  sip  his  stagnant  pool, 

In  fear  that  else,  when  Critics  grave  and  cool 

Have  killed  him.  Scorn  should  write  his  epitaph. 

How  does  the  Meadow-flower  its  bloom  unfold  ? 

Because  the  lovely  little  flower  is  free 

Down  to  its  root,  and,  in  that  freedom,  bold  ; 

And  so  the  grandeur  of  the  Forest-tree 

Comes  not  by  casting  in  a  formal  mould. 

But  from  its  own  divine  vitality. 

Before  1842. 


THE    PINE    OF  MONTE    MARIO  AT    ROME. 

I  SAW  far  off  the  dark  top  of  a  Pine 
Look  like  a  cloud  —  a  slender  stem  the  tie 
That  bound  it  to  its  native  earth  —  poised  high 
'Mid  evening  hues,  along  the  horizon  line, 
Striving  in  peace  each  other  to  outshine. 
But  when  I  learned  the  Tree  was  living  there, 
Saved  from  the  sordid  axe  by  Beaumont's  care. 
Oh,  what  a  gush  of  tenderness  was  mine  ! 
The  rescued  Pine-Tree,  with  its  sky  so  bright 
And  cloud-like  beauty,  rich  in  thoughts  of  home, 
Death-parted  friends,  and  days  too  swift  in  flight. 
Supplanted  the  whole  majesty  of  Rome 
(Then  first  apparent  from  the  Pincian  Height) 
Crowned  with  St.  Peter's  everlasting  Dome. 

1840  {.?). 


TO   A    PAIXTER.  351 


TO    A    PAINTER. 


All  praise  the  Likeness  by  thy  skill  portrayed  ; 

But  'tis  a  fruitless  task  to  paint  for  me. 

Who,  yielding  not  to  changes  Time  has  made. 

By  the  habitual  light  of  memory  see 

Eyes  unbedimmed,  see  bloom  that  cannot  fade. 

And  smiles  that  from  their  birth-place  ne'er  shall  riee 

Into  the  land  where  ghosts  and  phantoms  be  ; 

And,  seeing  this,  own  nothing  in  its  stead. 

Couldst  thou  go  back  into  far-distant  years. 

Or  share  with  me,  fond  thought  !  that  inward  eye. 

Then,  and  then  only.  Painter  !  could  thy  Art 

The  visual  powers  of  Nature  satisfy. 

Which  hold,  whate'er  to  common  sight  appears. 

Their  sovereign  empire  in  a  faithful  heart. 

1S40. 


ON   THE    SAME    SUBJECT. 

Though  I  beheld  at  first  with  blank  surprise 

This  Work,  I  now  have  gazed  on  it  so  long 

I  see  its  truth  with  unreluctant  eyes  ; 

O,  my  Beloved  !     I  have  done  thee  wrong. 

Conscious  of  blessedness,  but,  whence  it  sprung, 

Ever  too  heedless,  as  I  now  perceive  : 

Morn  into  noon  did  pass,  noon  into  eve. 

And  the  old  day  was  welcome  as  the  young, 

As  welcome,  and  as  beautiful  —  in  sooth 

More  beautiful,  as  being  a  thing  more  holy  : 

Thanks  to  thy  virtues,  to  the  eternal  youth 

Of  all  thy  goodness,  never  melancholy  ; 

To  thy  large  heart  and  humble  mind,  that  cast 

Into  one  vision,  future,  present,  past. 

1840. 


352  "WANSFELL." 

VVansfell  !  ^  this  Household  has  a  favoured  lot, 

Living  with  Uberty  on  thee  to  gaze. 

To  watch  while  Morn  first  crowns  thee  with  her  rays, 

Or  when  along  thy  breast  serenely  float 

Evening's  angelic  clouds.      Yet  ne'er  a  note 

Hath  sounded  (shame  upon  the  Bard  !)  thy  praise 

For  all  that  thou,  as  if  from  heaven,  hast  brought 

Of  glory  lavished  on  our  quiet  days. 

Bountiful  Son  of  Earth  !    when  we  are  gone 

From  every  object  dear  to  mortal  sight. 

As  soon  we  shall  be,  may  these  words  attest 

How  oft,  to  elevate  our  spirits,  shone 

Thy  visionary  majesties  of  light. 

How  in  thy  pensive  glooms  our  hearts  found  rest. 

Dec.  24,  1842. 
1  The  hill  that  rises  to  the  south-east,  above  Ambleside. 


NOTES 


NOTES, 


Figures  Re/err itig  to  Lines. 


"IF    THOU    INDEED." 

All  we  know  as  to  the  date  of  these  Imes  is  that  Wordsworth  said 
"  they  were  written  some  time  after  we  had  become  residents  at  Rydal 
Mount,"  1813,  and  that  they  were  printed  in  1827.  First  placed  among 
the  ''  Poems  of  Sentiment  and  Reflection,"  this  poem  in  1837  was  pre- 
fixed to  that  group,  and  in  1845  Wordsworth  decided  to  give  it  a  more 
important  place,  as  an  inscription  prefixed  to  his  entire  poetical  works. 
"  I  mean  it,"  he  wrote,  "  to  serve  as  a  sort  of  Preface."  In  the  earliest 
form  it  consists  of  eleven  lines  ;  1.  2,  1.  4,  and  the  last  three  lines  were 
added  in  1837,  when  also  some  slight  changes  of  text  were  made  in  the 
earlier  lines.  The  poem  may.  well  be  compared  with  that  beginning 
"  It  is  no  Spirit  who  from  heaven  hath  flown,"  in  which  Hesperus,  the 
"  ambitious  Star,"  prompts  the  thought  that  the  Poet  may  one  day 
ascend  to  the  heights  and  shine  there  unreproved.  The  added  lines  in 
the  present  poem  are  an  exhortation  of  the  Poet  to  himself  to  occupy 
no  more  and  no  less  than  his  allotted  place : 

to  the  measure  of  that  heaven-born  light. 
Shine,  Poet ! 

Lines  3,  4,  page  2.  Compare  in  the  "  Fragment  from  The  Recluse" 
11.  87-90: 

upon  me  bestow 
.A  gift  of  genuine  insight :  that  my  Song 
With  star-like  virtue  in  its  place  may  shine, 
Shedding  benignant  influence. 

10.  An  untended  watch-fire.  In  the  sonnet  beginning  "  I  watched, 
and  long  have  watched,"  a  star  reaching  the  rocky  parapet  is  described 
as  "  transmuted  to  a  dusky  fire." 


3s6  NOTES. 

LINES 

Left  upon  a  Seat  in  a  Yew-tree. 

Dated  by  Wordsworth,  1795,  '^'^'  written  in  part  when  he  was  at 
school  at  Hawkshead  before  October,  1787  ;  published  in  1798.  The 
Yew-tree  has  disappeared ;  "  it  stood  on  the  eastern  shore  of  Esthwaite- 
water,  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from  Hawkshead"  (Knight). 
"  This  spot,"  said  Wordsworth,  "  was  my  favourite  walk  in  the  evenings 
during  the  latter  part  of  my  school-time."  The  person  whose  character 
is  here  given  was  "a  gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood,  a  man  of  talent 
and  learning,  who  had  been  educated  at  one  of  the  Universities,  and 
returned  to  pass  his  time  in  seclusion  on  his  own  estate." 

4.  Before  1832,  with  a  less  simple  collocation  of  words:  "'  What  if 
these  barren  boughs  the  bee  not  loves .' " 

II.  This  line  in  1800  replaced  the  1798  reading:  ''Now  wild,  to 
bend  its  arms  in  circling  shade,"  thus  leaving  the  Yew-tree  bower  still 
intact. 

13-24.     In  1798  these  lines  stood  thus  : 

In  youth,  by  genius  nurs'd, 
And  big  with  lofty  views,  he  to  the  world 
Went  forth,  pure  in  his  heart,  against  the  taint 
Of  dissolute  tongues,  'gainst  jealousy,  and  hate. 
And  scorn,  against  all  enemies  prepared, 
All  but  neglect :  and  so,  his  spirit  damped 
At  once,  with  rash  disdain  he  turned  away. 
And  with  the  food  of  pride  sustained  his  soul 
In  solitude. 

In  1800  the  lines  were  almost  as  now,  except  that  between  "  neglect  " 
and  "  with  indignation,"  the  following  (altered  in  1802)  was  introduced  : 

The  world,  for  so  it  thought. 
Owed  him  no  service :  he  was  like  a  plant 
Fair  to  the  sun,  the  darling  of  the  winds. 
But  hung  with  fruit  which  no  one  that  passed  by 
Regarded,  and,  his  spirit  damped  at  once, 

The  image  of  the  ''  plant,"  following  the  description  of  the  ^'ew-tree, 
was  somewhat  confusing  or  distracting  to  the  imagination. 
27.     This  line  returns  (1820)  to  the  first  text  ;  in  181  5  : 

The  stone-chat,  or  the  sand-lark,  restless  Bird, 
Piping  along  the  margin  of  the  lake; 


NOTES. 


357 


Lamb  in  1815  complained  of  the  loss  of  the  1798  line,  — "  a  line 
quite  alive." 

30.  Downcast  in  1800  replaced  the  less  correct  "downward"  of 
1798. 

38.     This  line  was  added  in  1800;  "added  by  Coleridge"  (Knight). 

43.  Before  1836:  "With  mournful  joy,  to  think  that  others  felt." 
Wordsworth  doubtless  conceived  that  "mournful  joy"  disturbed  the 
feeling  of  the  lines  with  a  paradox. 

The  poem,  when  considered  in  connection  with  its  early  date,  is 
remarkable  as  embodying  much  that  is  characteristic  of  the  writer  in  its 
moral  wisdom.  Something,  though  with  many  differences,  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  Solitary  in  "  The  Excursion  "  is  anticipated  in  these  lines. 
For  an  interesting  criticism  of  the  poem,  see  Sir  Henry  Taylor's  article 
on  "  Wordsworth's  Poetical  Works."  (Taylor's  Works,  vol.  V,  pp. 
18-23,  ed.  1878.) 


MARGARET;  OR  THE  RUIXED  COTTAGE. 

This  is  a  portion  of  "The  Excursion,"  Bk.  i.  After  line  ^j  follow 
400  lines  —  here  omitted  —  which  give  an  account  of  the  Old  Man's  boy- 
hood, education,  and  manner  of  life.  He  is  a  pedlar,  born  in  Scotland, 
well  educated,  and  of  lofty  character,  devout  temper,  and  philosophic 
intellect. 

This  portion  of  "  The  Excursion"  was  begun  in  1795,  ^^^^  ^^'^^  ^'^''*" 
stantially  complete  in  1798,  though  we  find  that  Wordsworth  was  again 
engaged  upon  it  in  1801.  "The  Excursion"  was  published  in  1814. 
There  is  a  certain  sanction  for  presenting  this  fragment  by  itself,  for 
originally  Wordsworth  seems  to  have  designed  "  The  Ruined  Cottage  " 
(such  being  his  intended  title)  for  a  separate  poem. 

The  text  of  "The  Excursion"  was  revised  for  the  edition  of  1827, 
was  retouched  in  1S32,  again  revised  in  1S37,  and  again  in  1845.  In 
1827  Wordsworth,  upon  the  whole,  pruned  and  condensed  ;  in  1845  he 
made  a  few  interesting  additions,  some  of  these  expressing  more  clearly 
his  Christian  faith. 

There  is  little  or  nothing  in  this  poem  that  calls  for  explanation  or 
comment,  but  a  few  of  the  many  changes  of  text  may  be  noted. 

16,  17.     Before  1827  the  reading  was  : 

By  that  impending  covert  made  more  soft, 
More  low  and  distant ! 


3S8  NOTES. 

94-98.  These  lines  are  the  result  of  several  revisions.  In  1814  and 
1820  we  have  a  text  far  inferior  in  beauty  : 

Green  with  the  moss  of  years  ;  a  pensive  sight 
That  moved  my  heart ! — recalling  former  days 
When  I  could  never  pass  that  road  but  She 
Who  lived  within  these  walls,  at  my  approach, 

165.  Her  dwelling  in  1827  replaced  ''his  dwelling."  Several  like 
changes  in  the  sex  of  birds  may  be  noticed  in  Wordsworth's  revision  of 
his  poems. 

175.  Amusing  means  distracting  —  diverting  him  from  melan- 
choly. 

176.  Mingled  in  1837  replaced  the  less  correct  "  blended  "  of  earlier 
texts. 

197.  Tuneful  hum  is  a  late  correction,  1845  ;  in  earlier  texts,  "  Is 
filling  all  the  air  with  melody."  Wordsworth  perceived  that  "melody" 
is  not  a  happy  word  to  describe  the  murmur  of  flies.  At  the  same  time, 
in  the  next  line,  "  cheek  "  replaced  "  eye." 

247.  In  edd.  1814  and  1820  the  Old  Man  does  not  lift  the  latch,  but, 
on  reaching  the  door,  knocks.  His  confidence  in  the  later  reading 
enhances  the  surprise  of  sorrow. 

303.  "Trotting  brooks,"  from  Burns's  "To  William  Simpson," 
"  Adoun  some  trottin'  burn's  meander." 

307.  In  edd.  1814  and  1820, "  Towards  the  wane  of  Summer;  when 
the  wheat " 

344.  Dull  red  stains  caused  by  the  "  reddle,"  with  which  the 
several  owners  of  sheep  on  the  common  had  marked  their  animals. 

374.     God  in  1832  replaced  "heaven." 

415.  When:  a  late  alteration,  1845;  previously  "  Ere,"  making  the 
wanderer's  visit  earlier  in  the  year ;  compare  note  on  1.  307,  where  a 
change  of  the  opposite  kind  was  made.  In  each  instance  the  season  is 
made  more  joyous  than  as  at  first  conceived. 

534-540,  and  also  552-555,  changes  were  made,  late  in  Wordsworth's 
life,  in  1845,  ^°  V-^^  clearer  expression  to  his  Christian  faith.  Before 
that  date  two  lines  stood  in  the  place  of  534-540  : 

Be  wise  and  chearful ;  and  no  longer  read 
The  forms  of  things  with  an  imworthy  eye. 

And  for  552-555  stood  : 

Appeared  an  idle  dream,  that  could  not  live 
Where  meditation  was.     1  turned  away 


NOTES.  359 


THE    REVERIE   OF    POOR    SUSAN. 

Dated  by  Wordsworth,  1797,  and  published  in  1800.  "This  arose," 
said  Wordsworth,  "  out  of  my  observations  of  the  affecting  music  of 
these  birds  hanging  in  this  way  in  the  London  streets  during  the  fresh- 
ness and  stillness  of  the  Spring  morning."  Until  181 5  the  name  was 
"  Poor  Susan."  In  a  note  in  that  edition  (vol.  I,  p.  329)  Wordsworth 
describes  it  as  "  strictly  a  Reverie,"  and  says  that  it  would  not  have 
been  placed  among  "  Poems  of  the  Imagination  "  except  to  avoid  a 
needless  multiplication  of  classes  among  his  poems.  The  noteworthy 
changes  of  text  are  two  :  in  1.  2,  "  Hangs"  was  substituted  in  1820  for 
"There's";  and  in  1S02  a  stanza,  which  closed  the  poem  in  1800,  was 
judiciously   omitted. 

Poor  Outcast  !  return  —  to  receive  thee  once  more 
The  house  of  thy  Father  will  open  its  door, 
And  thou  once  again,  in  thy  plain  russet  gown, 
May'st  hear  the  thrush  sing  from  a  tree  of  its  own. 

Myers  speaks  of  Wordsworth  as  "  the  poet  not  of  London  considered 
as  London,  but  of  London  considered  as  a  part  of  the  country."  In  a 
letter  of  1815,  from  Lamb  to  Wordsworth  (Lamb's  Letters,  ed.  Ainger, 
I,  286),  he  speaks  of  "  The  Farmer  of  Tilsbury  Vale  "  as  a  charming 
counterpart  to  "  Poor  Susan";  "Susan  stood  for  the  representative  of 
poor  Rus  in  urbe.  .  ■  .  The  last  verse  of  Susan  was  to  be  got  rid 
of,  at  all  events.  It  threw  a  kind  of  dubiety  upon  Susan's  moral  con- 
duct. Susan  is  a  servant  maid.  I  see  her  trundling  her  mop,  and 
contemplating  the  whirling  phenomenon  through  blurred  optics;  but  to 
term  her  'a  poor  outcast'  seems  as  much  as  to  say  that  poor  Susan  was 
no  better  than  she  should  be,  which  I  trust  was  not  what  you  meant  to 
express.  Robin  Goodfellow  supports  himself  without  that  stick  of  a 
moral  which  you  have  thrown  away." 

I.     Wood  Street,  off  Cheapside,  London. 

7.     Lothbury,  a  street  behind  the  Bank  of  England. 


A    NIGHT    PIECE. 

The  date  is  Jan.  25,  1798,  when  Dorothy  W'ordsworth  writes  in  her 
Journal,  "  Went  to  Poole's  after  tea.  The  sky  spread  over  with  one 
continuous  cloud,  whitened  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  which,  though 
her  dim  shape  was  seen,  did  not  throw  forth  so  strong  a  light  as  to 


360  NOTES. 

chequer  the  earth  with  shadows.  At  once  the  clouds  seemed  to  cleave 
asunder,  and  left  her  in  the  centre  of  a  black-blue  vault.  She  sailed 
along,  followed  by  multitudes  of  stars,  small,  and  bright,  and  sharp  ; 
their  brightness  seemed  concentrated."  Perhaps  Dorothy's  words  did 
not  suggest,  but  were  derived  from  the  poem,  for  Wordsworth,  in  1843, 
said  that  it  was  composed  extempore  on  the  road,  — "I  distinctly  recol- 
lect the  very  moment  when  I  was  struck,  as  described."  Lines  in 
Coleridge's  "  Christabel"  may  have  been  suggested  on  the  same  occasion 
(or  possibly  on  Jan.  31  ;  see  Dorothy's  Journal)  : 

The  thin  gray  cloud  is  spread  on  high, 
It  covers  but  not  hides  the  sky. 
The  moon  is  behind,  and  at  the  full ; 
And  yet  she  looks  both  small  and  dull. 

Compare  the  sonnet  beginning  "  The  shepherd  looking  eastward," 
and  that  beginning  "  With  how  sad  steps,  O  Moon,"  as  other  "  Night 
Pieces  "  of  Wordsworth  in  which  the  play  of  clouds  around  the  moon, 
its  sudden  brightness,  and  the  hurrying  and  sparkling.stars  are  described. 

13.     Note  the  happy  fall  of  the  accent  on  "clear"  and  "glory." 


WE    ARE    SEVEN. 

This  poem  was  composed  in  1 798,  while  Wordsworth  was  walking  in 
the  grove  at  Alfoxden,  and  was  published  in  the  same  year  in  "  Lyrical 
Ballads."  "  I  composed,"  said  Wordsworth,  "  the  last  stanza  first,  hav- 
ing begun  with  the  last  line."  When  it  was  all  but  finished,  he  recited 
the  poem  to  his  sister  Dorothy  and  Coleridge,  and  expressed  his  desire 
to  add  a  prefatory  stanza.  Coleridge  immediately  threw  off  the  first 
stanza,  beginning  with  the  line,  "  A  little  child,  dear  brother  Jem." 
Wordsworth  objected  to  "  Jem,"  but  they  all  enjoyed  "  hitching  in  "  the 
name  of  a  friend  who  was  familiarly  called  Jem,  and  until  18 15  the  first 
line  remained  "  A  simple  child,  dear  brother  Jim."  The  little  girl  who 
is  the  heroine  had  been  met  by  Wordsworth  within  the  area  of  Goodrich 
Castle,  upon  his  visit  to  the  river  Wye,  in  1793. 

The  text  was  little  altered.  In  1.  49  "  little  Jane  "  stood  in  place  of 
"sister  Jane  "  until  1836  ;  the  word  "little  "  had  occurred  in  1.  47,  and 
perhaps  Wordsworth  thought  that  one  small  child  would  hardly  speak 
of  another  as  "  little."  L.  54  until  1827  was  "  And  all  the  summer  dry." 
L.  63,  "Quick  was  the  little  maid's  reply"  {1836),  gains  on  the  earlier 
"  The  little  Maiden  did  reply  "  in  vigour  of  meaning  and  of  expression. 


NOTES.  361 

The  idea  of  the  poem  —  the  incapacity  of  a  child  to  conceive  of  death 
—  has  much  in  common  with  the  "Ode:  Intimations  of  Immortality  in 
Early  Childhood."  The  opening  stanza  attributes  this  incapacity  to  the 
child's  vivid  sense  of  physical  life.  The  "  Ode  "  discovers  other  and 
deeper  causes  ;  and  perhaps  the  best  comment  on  this  poem  may  be 
found  in  Wordsworth's  "  Essay  on  Epitaphs,"  in  which  he  maintains 
that  the  inability  of  children  to  realise  the  thought  of  death  proceeds 
from  a  higher  source  than  mere  ignorance  or  animal  vivacity  :  "  Eorlorn, 
and  cut  off  from  communication  with  the  best  part  of  his  nature  must 
that  man  be,  who  should  derive  the  sense  of  immortality,  as  it  exists  in 
the  mind  of  a  child,  from  the  same  unthinking  gaiety  or  liveliness  of 
animal  spirits  with  which  the  lamb  in  the  meadow,  or  any  other  irra- 
tional creature  is  endowed."    (The  passage  is  too  long  to  quote  in  full.) 

SIMON    LEE. 

Written  in  1798,  and  published  in  the  same  year.  "  This  Old  Man," 
says  Wordsworth,  "had  been  huntsman  to  the  squires  of  Alfoxden, 
which,  at  the  time  we  occupied  it,  belonged  to  a  minor.  The  Old  Man's 
cottage  stood  upon  the  common,  a  little  way  from  the  entrance  to  Alfox- 
den Park.  .  .  .  The  expression  when  the  hounds  were  out,  '  T  dearly 
love  their  voice,'  was  word  for  word  from  his  own  lips." 

No  poem  of  Wordsworth's  underwent  so  many  and  perplexing 
changes  as  "  Simon  Lee."  The  last  five  stanzas,  indeed,  were  little 
altered ;  but  the  first  seven,  which  nearly  reached  their  final  form  in  1832, 
are  found  in  different  texts  and  different  sequence  in  1798,  1802,  1820, 
1827,  1832.  Condensation  was  effected,  words  and  lines  were  altered, 
stanzas  were  shifted  in  position,  and  new  stanzas  were  constructed  by 
connecting  the  halves  of  certain  stanzas  with  the  halves  of  others.  It 
would  hardly  be  profitable  to  trace  here  all  these  curious  changes  ;  they 
will  be  found  recorded  in  my  edition  of  Wordsworth  in  the  Aldine  Poets. 
I  shall  here  do  no  more  than  give  the  earliest  form  of  those  stanzas 
which  were  most  considerably  rehandled  : 

In  the  sweet  shire  of  Cardigan. 
Not  far  from  pleasant  Ivor-hall, 
An  old  man  dwells,  a  little  man, 
I  've  heard  he  once  was  tall. 
Of  years  he  has  upon  his  back. 
No  doubt  a  burthen  weighty  ; 
He  says  he  is  three  score  and  ten, 
But  others  say  he  's  eighty. 


362  NOTES. 

A  long  blue  livery-coat  has  he, 

That 's  fair  behind,  and  fair  before ; 

Yet,  meet  him  where  you  will,  you  see 

At  once  that  he  is  poor. 

Full  five  and  twenty  years  he  lived 

A  running  huntsman  merry ; 

And,  though  he  has  but  one  eye  left, 

His  cheek  is  like  a  cherry. 

No  man  like  him  the  horn  could  sound, 

And  no  man  was  so  full  of  glee ; 

To  say  the  least,  four  counties  round 

Had  heard  of  Simon  Lee  ; 

His  master's  dead,  and  no  one  now 

Dwells  in  the  hall  of  Ivor ; 

Men,  dogs,  and  horses,  all  are  dead ; 

He  is  the  sole  survivor. 

His  hunting  feats  have  him  bereft 

Of  his  right  eye,  as  you  may  see : 

And  then  what  limbs  those  feats  have  left 

To  poor  old  Simon  Lee  ! 

He  has  no  son,  he  has  no  child ; 

His  wife,  an  aged  woman, 

Lives  with  him,  near  the  waterfall, 

Upon  the  village  common. 

And  he  is  lean  and  he  is  sick, 

H  is  little  body 's  half  awry, 

His  ancles  they  are  swoln  and  thick; 

His  legs  are  thin  and  dry. 

When  he  was  young  he  little  knew 

Of  husbandry,  or  tillage ; 

And  now  he  's  forced  to  work,  though  weak, 

—  The  weakest  in  the  village. 

He  all  the  country  could  outrun, 

Could  leave  both  man  and  horse  behind; 

And  often,  ere  the  race  was  done. 

He  reeled  and  was  stone-blind. 

And  still  there  's  something  in  the  world 

At  which  his  heart  rejoices  ; 

For  when  the  chiming  hounds  are  out, 

He  dearly  loves  their  voices ! 


NOTES.  363 

Old  Kuth  works  out  of  doors  with  him, 

And  does  what  Simon  cannot  do  ; 

For  she,  not  over  stout  of  limb, 

Is  stouter  of  the  two. 

And  though  you  with  your  utmost  skill 

From  labour  could  not  wean  them, 

Alas  1  't  is  very  little,  all 

Which  they  can  do  between  tlieni. 

Beside  their  moss-grown  hut  of  clay, 
Not  twenty  paces  from  the  door, 
A  scrap  of  land  they  have,  but  they 
Are  poorest  of  the  poor. 
This  scrap  of  land  he  from  the  heath 
Enclosed  when  he  was  stronger ; 
But  what  avails  the  land  to  them. 
Which  they  can  till  no  longer  ? 

Evidently,  Wordsworth  felt  that  for  the  pathos  of  the  poem  it  was  not 
necessary  to  make  Simon  so  grotesque  a  figure  as  he  had  been  at  first, 
and  felt  also  that  he  had  insisted  too  much  upon  certain  trivial  details. 
Simon  is  no  longer  deprived  of  an  eye  ;  his  long  blue  livery  coat  is  left 
to  the  imagination.  Enough  details  of  the  old  man's  weakness  and 
poverty  remain,  of  his  joyous  youth  and  infirm  age;  and  every  detail 
tends  to  the  central  point,  the  pathetic  .significance  of  the  incident 
which  closes  the  poem. 


LINES    WRITTEN    IN    EARLY    SPRING    ('  I  heard,"  etc.). 

Written  and  published  in  1798.  "Actually  composed,"  said  Words- 
worth, "  while  I  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  brook  that  runs  down 
from  the  Comb,  in  which  stands  the  village  of  Alford  {i.e.,  Holford,  in 
Somerset],  through  the  grounds  of  Alfoxden.  It  was  a  chosen  resort 
of  mine.  The  brook  ran  down  a  sloping  rock  so  as  to  make  a  waterfall 
considerable  for  that  country,  and  across  the  pool  below  had  fallen  a  tree, 
an  ash,  if  I  rightly  remember,  from  which  rose  perpendicularly  boughs 
in  search  of  the  light  intercepted  by  the  deep  shade  above.  The  boughs 
bore  leaves  of  green  that,  for  want  of  sunshine,  had  faded  into  almost 
lily-white,  and  from  the  under  side  of  this  natural  sylvan  bridge  depended 
long  and  beautiful  tresses  of  ivy,  which  waved  gently  in  the  breeze  that 
might,  poetically  speaking,  be  called  the  breath  of  the  waterfall." 


364  NOTES. 

In  revising  his  poems,  Wordswoitli,  in  many  instances,  replaced  the 
word  "  sweet "  by  some  other  adjective  ;  so,  in  1.  9,  "green  bower"  in 
1837  replaced  the  earlier  "sweet  bower." 

Lines  21,  22  were  originally — with  a  meaning  too  subjective,  and 
hence  altered  — 

If  I  these  thoughts  may  not  prevent, 
If  such  be  of  my  creed  the  plan. 

In  1820  the  present  text  (except  that  "is"  stood  for  '  be  ")  was  intro- 
duced. In  1827  the  order  of  words  was  "  From  Heaven  if  this  belief  be 
sent."  Probably  Wordsworth  wished  to  separate  "  Mief "  from  "  he 
sent." 

Anyone  who  glances  at  a  chronological  table  of  the  poems  of  1798 
will  see  how  they  fall  into  two  chief  groups,  —  those  radiant  with  joy, 
which  tell  of  what  this  poem  calls  "  Nature's  holy  plan,"  and  those 
which  interpret  the  sufferings  of  humanity,  telling  "  what  man  has  made 
of  man." 

TO    MV  SISTER    ( '  It  is  the  first "). 

This  poem  was  composed  in  front  of  Alfoxden  House,  near  Nether 
Stowey,  in  the  year  of  publication,  1798.  "  My  little  boy-messenger 
on  this  occasion  ['Edward'  of  1.  13,  who,  in  the  earlier  titles,  is 
said  to  have  taken  the  poem  to  the  writer's  sister]  was  the  son  of 
Basil  Montagu.  The  larch  mentioned  in  the  first  stanza  was  stand- 
ing when  I  revisited  the  place  in  May,  1841,  more  than  forty  years 
after." 

The  only  change  of  text  deserving  of  notice  is  in  1.  26,  which,  until 
1837,  was  "  Than  fifty  years  of  reason,"  —  the  definite  extravagance  of 
which  cliallenged  opposition. 


EXPOSTULATION    AND    REPLY. 

Composed  in  front  of  Alfoxden  House  in  the  spring  of  1798,  the 
year  of  publication.     The  text  remained  unaltered. 

The  scene  is  placed  "by  Esthwaite  Lake"  (west  of  Windermere), 
because  the  schoolmaster,  William  Taylor,  from  whom  some  featuies 
of  "  Matthew  "  are  derived,  taught  at  the  neighbouring  village  of  Hawks- 
head,  where  Wordswortli  had  been  his  pupil.  The  plea  for  the  study 
of  books  is  put  appropriately  into  the  schoolmaster's  mouth. 


A'O  TKS. 


THE     TABLES    TURNED. 

Composed  and  published  in  179S.  The  only  variation  of  text  requir- 
ing notice  is  in  the  first  stanza,  where  previous  to  1S20  the  third  and 
fourth  lines  came  first  and  second. 

The  stanza  beginning  "  One  impulse  from  a  vernal  wood  "  has  been 
censured  for  exaggeration,  but  Wordsworth  means  that  in  communion 
with  external  nature  a  moment  may  come  which  will  evoke  from  the 
heart  more  moral  energy  that  can  be  taught  by  books.  The  contrast 
is  not  merely  between  books  and  nature,  but  also  between  the  genial 
temper  of  mind  induced  by  external  nature,  when  rightly  observed  and 
felt,  and  the  temper  of  the  mere  analytic  intellect.  Compare  11.  21-32 
of  "  To  my  Sister." 


THE    COMPLAI.XT    OF    A     FORSAKEN     INDIAN     WOMAN. 

Written  for  "Lyrical  Ballads.'"  at  Alfoxden,  in  1798,  and  published 
in  the  same  year.  The  substance  of  what  Hearne  writes  is  conveyed 
by  Wordsworth  into  his  note  prefixed  to  the  poem,  but  he  does  not 
mention  that  Hearne  tells  of  a  woman  left  behind  by  his  Indian  com- 
panions, who  three  times  succeeded  in  coming  up  with  them.  "  At 
length,  poor  creature !  she  dropt  behind,  and  no  one  attempted  to  go 
back  in  search  of  her."     Chap.  vii. 

4.  This  is  the  earliest  text,  restored  in  1S36.  From  181  5  to  1832 
the  reading  was  of  less  imaginative  power.  —  "  The  stars  were  mingled 
with  my  dreams." 

5,  6.      From  179S  to  181 5  : 

In  sleep  did  1  behold  the  skies, 
I  saw  the  crackling  flashes  drive; 

\V'ordsworth  noticed  that  "  crackling "  needed  the  verb    to  hear,  and 
substituted  the  present  text  in  1820,  with  only  the  difference  "  I  lieard. 
and  saw"  (altered  in  1827). 
23,  24.      Before  181  5  : 

Too  soon  despair  o"er  me  prevailed ; 
Too  soon  my  heartless  spirit  failed  : 

The  reproach   of  1.   24  adds  an   idea  ;   the  original  1.  24   oidy   repeated 
the  idea  of  1.  23. 


366  N07'ES. 

30.     Dear  friends  :  before  1845,     -^^y  friends." 
36.     Before  181 5  :  "A  most  strange  something  did  I  see  ;  " 
40.     Before  181 5:  "like  a  little  child."     The  change  brings  out  the 
child's  inability  to  accomplish  what  seemed  its  desire. 

61-70.  This  stanza  was  omitted,  to  the  loss  of  the  poem,  from  ed. 
181 5  to  ed.  1832  ;  restored  in  1836.  Line  61,  from  1798  to  1805,  was 
"  My  journey  will  be  shortly  run  "  (altered  in  1836).  In  1.  68  "  thought,'' 
before  1836  was  "  thoughts,"  and  the  closing  lines  were  : 

I  feel  my  body  die  away, 
I  shall  not  see  another  day. 


THE    OLD    CUMBERLAND    BEGGAR. 

Wordsworth  dates  this  poem  1798  ;  published  in  1800.  It  was 
written,  he  says,  at  Racedown  and  Alfoxden,  i.e.,  between  1796  and 
1798.  Of  the  subject  he  says,  "  observed,  and  with  great  benefit  to  my 
own  heart  when  I  was  a  child.  The  political  economists  were  about 
that  time  beginning  their  war  upon  mendicity  in  all  its  forms,  and  by 
implication,  if  not  directly,  on  almsgiving  also."  For  Wordsworth's 
views  as  to  the  treatment  of  pauperism,  see  among  his  "  Prefaces,"  etc., 
the  "  Postscript  1835  "  (Aldine  edition,  vol.  V,  p.  299). 

15.     Ate,  a  correction  of  1805  ;  previously  "eat." 

26,  27.  Altered  in  1837,  perhaps  to  avoid  the  awkward  compound 
"  horseman-traveller  "  (which,  however,  is  retained  in  "  Ruth  "),  or  per- 
haps to  get  rid  of  "  does  throw  "  ;  previously  : 

The  sauntering  horseman-traveller  does  not  throw 
With  careless  hand 

31.  Before  1827:  "Towards  this  aged  Beggar  turns  a  look."  The 
more  dwelling  sense  of  "  watches  "  is  a  gain. 

39.     Thus  warned  in  1827  replaced  "perchance." 

54.  Seldom  in  1827  replaced  "  never."  The  power  of  this  poem  lies 
in  its  absolute  truthfulness  and  freedom  from  exaggeration.  See  the 
change  in  11.  186-189. 

62.     Has:  before  1837,  "have." 

72.  Or:  before  1837,  "and."  The  proud,  of  whom  Wordsworth 
speaks,  may  found  their  pride  on  either  talents,  or  power,  or  wisdom. 

79-88.     The  most  important  alteration   in  the  poem.     Before   1837 

only  two  lines  : 

Inseparably  linked.     While  thus  he  creeps 
From  door  to  door  the  villagers  in  him 


NOTES.  367 

104.  In  1832  the  soul  was  made  feminine  ;  previously  "  itself,"  not 
"  herself."  Compare  the  sonnet  "  Milton,  thou  shouldst  be  living," 
where  a  like  change  was  made  in  1820.  "No  writer,"  says  Coventry 
Patmore  ("The  Rod,  the  Root,  and  the  Flower,"  p.  8),  "sacred  or  pro- 
fane, ever  uses  the  word  '  he  '  or  '  him  '  of  the  soul.  It  is  always  'she  ' 
or  '  her,'  so  universal  is  the  intuitive  knowledge  that  the  soul,  with 
regard  to  (iod  who  is  her  life,  is  feminine." 

log.  Even  such  minds  in  1827  replaced  "  minds  like  these,"  to  avoid 
a  repeated  "  like  "  in  109  and  1 1 1,  at  the  same  time  1.  i  r  i  being  substi- 
tuted for  the  earlier  "  This  helpless  Wanderer,  have  perchance  received.' 

138,  139.      A  line  was  omitted  in  1827  ;  previously: 

.  .  .  negligent. 
Meanwhile,  in  any  tenderness  of  heart 
Or  act  of  love 

Perhaps  Wordsworth  thought  that  neglect  properly  applies  to  "  acts," 
but  not  to  a  state  of  heart. 

157.     Store:  before  1827,  "chest." 

164.  Borne:  a  needed  correction  of  1827;  previou.sly  "led,"  an 
inappropriate  word  to  connect  with  "  tide." 

175.  The  chartered  wind,  privileged  wind,  —  probably  a  reminis- 
cence from  Shakespeare's  "King  Henry  V,"  i.  i.  48,  "  the  air,  a  char- 
tered libertine." 

184,  185.  I.amb  in  a  letter  to  Wordsworth  of  January,  1801,  notes 
"  the  delicate  and  curious  feeling  in  the  wish  for  the  Cumberland  Beggar 
that  he  may  have  about  him  the  melody  of  birds,  although  he  hear 
them  not." 

186-189.     Before  181 5  : 

if  his  ej'es.  which  now 
Have  been  so  long  familiar  with  the  earth, 
Xo  more  behold  the  horizontal  sun 

The  exaggeration  is  corrected.     See  note  on  1.  54, 

193.  On  a  in  1837  replaced  "by  the,"  to  avoid  the  "  th  "  sound 
occurring  thrice  in  the  line. 

In  this  poem  Wordsworth  takes  a  human  being  who  seems  to  have 
reached  the  lowest  point  of  utility,  in  the  vulgar  meaning  of  that  word, 
and  shows  how  he  confers  real  service  on  his  fellows  in  receiving  service, 
and  has  a  just  claim  on  the  charities  of  man  as  well  as  the  unfailing 
charities  of  nature. 


368  NOTES. 


ANIMAL    TRANQUILLITY    AND    DECAY. 

Written  and  published  in  1798.  The  original  title  was  "  Old  Man 
Travelling  ;  Animal  Tranquillity  and  Decay,  A  Sketch."  The  only 
change  in  the  present  lines  was,  1.  10,  "hath  such"  in  1805  replacing 
"  has  such,"  to  avoid  the  clash  of  sibilants.  IJut  at  first  these  lines 
were  succeeded  by  the  following : 

I  asked  him  whither  he  was  bound,  and  what 

The  object  of  his  journe}' ;  lie  replied 

"  Sir  !  1  am  going  many  miles  to  take 

A  last  leave  of  my  son,  a  mariner 

Who  from  a  sea-fight  has  been  brought  to  Falmouth, 

And  there  is  dying  in  an  hospital." 

These  lines  were  slightly  altered  in  1800,  and  were  omitted  in  181 5. 
Poems  on  the  sorrows  of  the  poor  caused  by  war  are  numerous  in 
Southey  and  other  writers  between  1790  and  iSoo.  Here  the  virtue  of 
the  poem  lies  in  its  mere  presentation  of  an  old  man,  his  tranquillity  and 
decay,  and  the  added  piece  of  narrative  rather  lessened  its  imaginative 
effect. 


LINES   COMPOSED    A    FEW    MILES    ABOVE   TINTERN 
ABBEY,    etc. 

This  poem  was  written  in  1798  and  published  in  the  same  year,  Ijeing 
the  last  poem  of  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  a  volume  which  opens  with  Cole- 
ridge's "Ancient  Mariner."  "No  poem  of  mine,"  said  Wordsworth 
(Fenwick  note),  "  WAS  composed  under  circumstances  more  pleasant  for 
me  to  remember  than  this.  I  began  it  upon  leaving  Tintern,  after 
crossing  the  Wye,  and  concluded  it  just  as  I  was  entering  Bristol  in  the 
evening,  after  a  ramble  of  four  or  five  days  with  my  sister.  Not  a  line 
of  it  was  altered,  and  not  any  part  of  it  written  down  till  I  reached 
Bristol." 

Wordsworth  had  visited  the  ^\'ye  in  the  summer  of  1793,  ^'^  which 
fact  he  refers  in  the  opening  lines. 

4.  Soft  inland  murmur:  before  1845,  "sweet  inland  murmur." 
Wordsworth  in  his  earlier  poems  had  used  the  word  "  sweet "  too  fre- 
quently and  indiscriminately,  and  at  a  later  time  he  grew  perhaps  over- 
fastidious  as  to  the  word,  which  disappeared  from  a  large  number  of 
passages. 


NOTES.  369 


13,  14.     The  text  is  of  1S45.      '"  i7yt>-i<^oo  : 

Among  the  woods  and  copses  lose  themselves, 
Nor,  with  their  green  and  simple  hue,  disturb 
The  wild  green  landscape. 

In   1802-43: 

Are  clad  in  one  green  hue,  and  lose  themselves 
Among  the  woods  and  copses,  nor  disturb 
The  wild  green  landscape. 

Perhaps  Wordsworth  thought  the  earlier  reading  too  analytic  in  its 
characterizing  of  landscape  for  the  mood  of  mind  expressing  itself  in 
these  lines. 

The  reader  of  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  1798,  should  notice  that  a  line  com- 
ing between  1.  18  and  1.  19  in  that  edition,  "  And  the  low  copses  —  com- 
ing from  the  trees,"  is  cancelled  in  the  "errata." 

22,  23.      Before  1827  : 

Though  absent  long. 
These  forms  of  beauty. 

The  absence  was  that  of  Wordsworth  ;  in  the  earlier  text  the  word 
"  absent "  might  be  supposed  to  belong  to  "  forms  of  beauty." 

32.  Before  1820,  "  As  may  have  had  no  trivial  influence."  Words- 
worth generalizes  the  reflection,  and  does  not  wish  to  identify  his  own 
life  with  "  the  good  man's  life  "  of  1.  t^^. 

84.  Aching  joys.  In  a  suppressed  stanza  of  "  Ruth  "  occur  the 
words 

with  delight 
The  heart  of  Ruth  would  ache. 

106.  The  words  of  Young  referred  to  in  Wordsworth's  footnote 
occur  in  "  The  Complaint,"  "  Night  Thoughts,"  VI,  423-5 : 

At  a  small  inlet,  which  a  grain  might  close. 
And  half  create  the  wondrous  world  they  see. 
Our  senses,  as  our  reason,  are  divine. 

With  respect  to  the  changes  which  Wordsworth's  feeling  for  nature 
underwent,  this  poem  may  be  read  in  connection  with  the  "  Ode  :  Inti- 
mations of  Immortality,"  etc.  Here  he  describes  the  mere  animal 
enjoyment  of  nature  in  boyhood  ;  the  later  period,  when  beauty  and 
sublimity,  reaching  him  through  the  eye  and  ear,  became  a  passion; 
later  still,  the  tranquillising,  and  also  the  elevating  and  spiritual  influ- 
ences of  nature;  and  now,  a  feeling  for  nature,  touched  and  chastened 


37  o  NOTES. 

by  humanity,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  deeper  communion  with  the 
spiritual  Presence  at  work  both  through  nature  and  in  man.  We  might 
name  these  periods  that  ot  the  blood,  that  of  the  senses,  that  of  the 
imagination,  and  that  of  the  soul.  In  the  development  of  feeling  some- 
thing was  lost,  but  more  was  gained.  "  Wordsworth,"  writes  Myers, 
"  has  shown  by  the  subtle  intensity  of  his  own  emotion  how  the  contem- 
plation of  Nature  can  be  made  a  revealing  agency,  like  Love  or  Prayer, 
—  an  opening,  if  indeed  there  be  any  opening,  into  the  transcendent 
world."  In  a  note,  ed.  1800,  Wordworth  writes  :  "  I  have  not  ventured 
to  call  this  Poem  an  Ode ;  but  it  was  written  with  a  hope  that  in  the 
transitions,  and  the  impassioned  music  of  the  versification,  would  be 
found  the  principal  requisites  of  that  species  of  composition." 

THERE    WAS    A    BOY. 

Written  in  Germany  late  in  179S  ;  the  receipt  of  a  MS.  copy  is 
acknowledged  from  Ratzeburg,  on  Decemljer  10,  by  Coleridge,  who 
writes  "  That 

'uncertain  heaven  received 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  steady  lake  ' 

I  should  have  recognized  anywhere;  and  had  I  met  these  lines  running 
wild  in  the  deserts  of  Arabia,  I  should  have  instantly  screamed  out, 
'Wordsworth  !'"  The  poem  was  first  published  in  iSoo.  When  in 
1S04  Wordsworth  was  at  work  on  "  The  Prelude,"  he  made  this  poem 
a  part  of  Bk.  v  (11.  364-397).  The  Boy  was  Wordsworth's  school- 
fellow, William  Raincock  of  Rayrigg,  "a  fine,  spirited  lad."  His  elder 
brother  was  with  Wordsworth  at  Cambridge. 

2.  Winander,  Windermere  or  W^inandermere  in  Westmoreland. 

3.  Before  181 5  :  "  At  evening,  when  the  stars  had  just  begun  " 

15.  Concourse  wild,  a  correction  of  1805  ;  previously  "  a  wild  scene  "  ; 
but  while  "  visible  scene  "  of  1.  21  is  correct,  a  "  scene  of  din  "  misapplies 
the  word. 

16,  17.      Before  1836  : 

Of  mirth  and  jocund  din  !  And,  when  it  chanced 
That  pauses  of  deep  silence  mocked  his  skill, 

In  "  The  Prelude"  : 

and,  when  a  lengthened  pause 
Of  silence  came,  and  baffled  his  best  skill, 

The  idea  of  mockery  disturbs  the  feeling  of  the  lines  which  follow. 


NOTES. 


37' 


26-34.      I"  1800  and  1S02  the  lines  corresponding  to  these  were  the 
following  : 

Fair  are  the  woods,  and  beauteous  is  the  spot. 

The  vale  where  he  was  born ;  the  Church-yard  hangs 

Upon  a  slope  above  the  village  school, 

.\nd  there  along  that  bank  when  I  have  pass'd 

k\.  evening,  I  believe,  that  near  his  grave 

A  full  half-hour  together  I  have  stood, 

Mute  —  for  he  died  when  he  was  ten  years  old. 

In  1S05  Wordsworth  felt  that  the  last  words  were  a  bald  addition, 
informing  the  reader  of  the  Boy's  age  and  nothing  more.  lie  therefore 
announced  the  Boy's  death  as  in  the  present  11.  26,  27,  except  that  he 
remained  of  the  age  of  "ten"  (where  now  "full  twelve" — 1815  — 
stands).  The  passage  continued  "  P'air  are,"  etc.,  as  in  1800,  until  we 
reach  1.  32  : 

At  evening,  1  believe,  that  oftentimes 
A  full  half-hour  together  ]  have  stood 
Mute  —  looking  at  the  grave  in  which  he  lies.    {1S05.) 

Lines  28,  29  are  of  1845.     In  1827   (and  in  "The   Prelude")   Words- 
worth substituted  for  the  reading  of  1800  : 

Fair  is  the  spot,  most  beautiful  the  vale 

Where  he  was  born  ;  the  grassy  church-yard  hangs 

In  1S40  the  original  text  was  restored;  but  still  dissatisfied.  Wordsworth 
in  1845  wrote  11.  28,  29  as  we  now  have  them.  Lines  31-33  received 
their  final  form  in  1836.  "A  long  half-hour"  was  substituted  in  1815 
for  "  A  full  half-hour."  Compare  "  To  a  Butterfly,"  1.  i.  where  "  a  short 
half-hour"  was  changed  to  "a  full  half-hour." 

In  "The  Waggoner"  \\'ords\vorth   speaks  of  the  Windermere  owls  : 

The  jolly  bird  hath  learned  liis  cheer 
On  the  banks  of  Windermere  : 
Where  a  tribe  of  them  make  merry. 
Mocking  the  man  that  keeps  the  ferry. 

The  poem  might  have  closed  without  a  sense  of  incompleteness  at  the 
line  "  Into  the  bosom  of  the  steady  lake,"  but  the  contrast  between  the 
"concourse  wild  of  jocund  din"  and  the  silence  of  the  grave  heightens 
and  deepens  the  impression  which  it  makes. 


372  ■  NOTES. 


"STRANGE    FITS    OF    PASSION   HAVE   I    KNOWN." 

This  poem  was  written  in  Germany  early  in  1799,  and  was  published 
in  1800.     The  following  variations  of  text  may  be  noted: 
Lines  5,  6  replaced  in  1836  the  earlier 

When  she  1  loved  was  strong  and  gay 

And  like  a  rose  in  June,  / 

Line  8,  "  an  evening  moon  "  in  1836  replaced  "  the  evening  moon  "  ; 
"the,"  following  "beneath,"  produced  a  disagreeable  juxtaposition  of 
the  "  th  "  sound. 

Line  11  in  1836  replaced  "  My  horse  trudg'd  on,  and  we  drew  nigh." 
The  quickening  pace  corresponds  better  with  a  lover's  feeling. 

Lines  15,  16  previous  to  1S36  were 

Towards  tlie  roof  of  Lucy's  cot 
The  moon  descended  still. 

The  use  of  "  towards  "  as  a  dissyllable  was  at  this  time  condemned  by 
Wordsworth. 

Line  24.  In  this  line  the  word  "  planet,"  applied  to  the  moon,  was 
altered  in  181 5  to  "bright  moon." 

The  Lucy  of  other  poems  of  this  date  dies  (see  "  She  dwelt  among 
the  untrodden  ways  "),  and  so  the  lover's  omen  was  confirmed.  Aubrey 
de  Vere  questioned  Wordsworth  as  to  why  he  had  not  written  more 
love-poems.  "  Had  I  been  a  writer  of  love-poetry,"  Wordsworth  re- 
plied, "  it  would  have  been  natural  to  me  to  write  it  with  a  degree  of 
warmth  which  could  hardly  have  been  approved  by  my  principles." 


"SHE    DWELT    AMONG    THE    UNTRODDEN    WAYS." 

Written  in  Germany  in  1799  and  published  in  1800.  The  text  is  as 
it  has  stood  in  all  editions  except  1802,  when  1.  4  was  "  A  very  few  to 
love." 

The  river  Dave  rises  on  the  borders  of  Derby  and  Stafford,  near 
Buxton  and  Axedge  Hill.  It  is  not  known  whether  any  original  of 
Lucy  existed,  or  whether  the  poems  connected  with  her  are  wholly  of 
ihe  imagination. 


NOTES.  373 


"I    TRAVELLED    AMOXC]    UNKNOWN    MEN." 

Written  in  1799,  probably  on  returning  from  Germany,  but  not  pub- 
lished until  1S07.     Other  poems  connected  with  Lucy  appeared  in  1800. 

Sara  Coleridge  writes  of  the  last  stanza  as  one  "  in  which  the  poet,  as 
it  were,  spreads  day  and  night  over  the  object  of  his  affections,  and 
seems,  under  the  influence  of  his  passionate  feeling,  to  think  of  Eng- 
land, whether  in  light  or  darkness,  only  as  Lucy's  play-place  and  verdant 
home." 

In  1807  \\'ordsworth  directed  his  printer  to  insert  the  poem  after 
''  A  Slumber  did  my  Spirit  Seal." 

"THREE    YEARS    SHE    GREW." 

Composed  in  the  Hartz  Forest  in  1799  and  published  in  1800  ;  printed 
also  in  The  Morning  Post,  Mar.  2,  180 1. 

With  the  exception  of  one  line,  the  23d,  the  poem  is  now  as 
originally  published.  Line  23  in  1800  was  "  A  beauty  that  shall  mould 
her  form  " ;  grace  of  motion  is  correct,  and  the  repetition  of  beauty  in 
two  successive  stanzas  is  avoided.  The  change  was  made  in  1802.  At 
the  same  time  Wordsworth  altered  11.  7,  8,  reading: 

Her  Teacher  1  myself  will  be. 
She  is  my  darling  : —  and  with  me 

Happily  he  reverted  in  1805  to  the  earlier  texts;  the  conception  of 
Nature  as  pedagogue  is  far  less  suitable  and  less  significant  than  that  of 
Nature  as  "  law  and  impulse."  In  the  account  of  Ruth's  lover  (p.  64) 
we  read  of  Nature  as  an  impulse,  but  without  the  restraining  law.  The 
third  stanza  expounds  the  meaning  of  "  law  and  impulse  "  ;  the  fourth 
tells  of  education  through  visible  beauty  ;  the  fifth  of  impulses  from 
sound;  the  sixth  of  the  vital  joy  communicated  by  the  life  of  Nature. 
Prof.  Knight  says  that  1.  23  of  ed.  1800  is  replaced  in  the  errata  by  the 
present  reading.     It  is  not  so  in  the  errata  of  my  copy  of  that  edition. 

"A    SLUMBER    DID    MV    SPIRIT    SEAL." 

Written  in  Germany  in  1799;  published  in  1800.  The  text  was  never 
altered.  One  of  the  "  Lucy  "  group  of  poems.  Mr.  Aubrey  de  Vere  calls 
this  poem  "  a  dirge,  which  those  who  confound  the  passionate  with  the 
exclamatory  will  do  well  to  pass  by,  but  which  to  others  will  lepreseiii. 
in  its  stern  brevity,  the  tragic  rising  to  the  terrible." 


374  ^'O  ^^■^• 


A    POET'S    EPITAPH. 

Composed  in  the  winter  of  1 798-99,  in  Germanyj  dm  ing  VVordswortli's 
walks  on  the  ramparts  of  Goslar ;  published  in  1800. 

I.  Statist :  substituted  in  1837  for  the  earlier  "  Statesman,"  doubt- 
less to  avoid  the  jingle  of  "  man  "  and  "van." 

6-8.     Before  1820  : 

Go,  ciiny  to  some  other  place 
The  hardness  of  thy  coward  eye, 
The  falsehood  of  thy  sallow  face. 

See  Lamb's  comment  below. 

9-12.  The  "  Doctor"  of  this  stanza  is  not  a  physician,  but  a  divine, 
accustomed  to  kneel  at  prayers  on  a  luxurious  "  cushion." 

13.  Before  1S20  :  "  Art  thou  a  man  of  gallant  pride  ";  altered  to  vary 
from  the  opening  words  of  the  preceding  stanza. 

14.  The  soldier  is  represented  as  less  alien  to  the  ])oet  than  the 
other  typical  personages. 

18.  Is  the  "Philosopher"  the  same  person  as  the  "Physician".'' 
Observe  the  note  of  e.xclamation,  not  of  interrogation,  after  "  I'hiloso- 
pher  !  "      But  the  query  is  not  repeated  in  1.  25. 

24.  In  1837  this  replaced  the  reading  of  1815-32:  "That  al)ject 
thing,  thy  soul,  away,"  which  itself  replaced  the  reading  of  1S00-5, 
"  Thy  pin-point  of  a  soul  away."     See  Lamb's  comment  below. 

30.  Great  or  small,  a  correction  of  1837;  previously  "nor." 

31.  Self-sufficing.  So  in  1800,  but  in  1S02  and  1805  self-sutfi- 
cient  "  ;  "  self-sufficing"  restored  in  181 5. 

38.  The  "  russet  brown  "  is  probably  a  reminiscence  from  Thomson's 
"  Castle  of  Indolence,"  where  the  bard  is  "  in  russet  brown  bedight." 

Lamb,  in  a  letter  of  iSoi,  wrote:  "  The  '  Poet's  Epitaph  '  is  disfigured, 
to  my  taste,  by  the  common  satire  upon  parsons  and  lawyers  in  the 
Ijeginning,  and  the  coarse  epithet  of  'pin-point'  in  the  sixth  stanza. 
All  the  rest  is  eminently  good,  and  your  own." 

LUCY    (tRAY. 

Written  in  1799  at  Goslar  in  Germany  ;  published  in  the  second  vol- 
ume of  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  1800.  "  It  was  founded,"  says  Wordsworth, 
"  on  a  circumstance  told  me  by  my  Sister,  of  a  little  girl,  who,  not  far 
from   Halifax    in    Yorkshire,  was    bewildered  in    a   snowstorm.       Her 


NOTES. 


375 


footsteps  were  traced  by  her  parents  to  the  middle  of  the  lock  of  a 
canal,  and  no  other  vestige  of  her,  backward  or  forward,  could  be 
traced.  The  body,  however,  was  found  in  the  canal."  In  Crabb  Rob- 
inson's Diary,  Sept.  ii,  1816,  the  writer,  recording  a  conversation  with 
Wordsworth,  notes  that  the  poet's  object  was  "  to  exhibit  poetically 
entire  solitude,  and  he  represents  the  child  as  observing  the  day-moon, 
which  no  town  or  village  girl  would  ever  notice."  Wordsworth  re- 
marks that  the  way  in  which  the  incident  was  treated  and  "  the  spirit- 
ualizing of  the  character "  might  furnish  hints  for  contrasting  the 
imaginative  influences  which  he  endeavoured  to  throw  over  common  life 
with  Crabbe's  matter-of-fact  style  of  treating  subjects  of  the  same  kind. 
In  1827  Wordsworth  altered,  in  1.  45,  the  words  "Then  downward"  to 
"  Half  breathless,"  but  restored  "  Then  downwards  "  at  a  later  date. 

The  chief  departure  from  the  real  incident  is  that  Lucy  Gray's  body 
is  not  found  ;  this  gives  opportunity  for  the  rumours  that  she  is  still 
alive,  and  the  supposed  confirmation  of  these  rumours  by  her  appari- 
tion on  the  wild.  For  Wordsworth's  treatment  of  the  supernatural, 
compare  his  poem  "  The  Danish  Boy,"  where  the  spirit  walks  or  sits  at 
noonday  in  a  moorland  dell,  warbling  songs  of  war  that  seem  songs  of 

love  : 

For  calm  and  gentle  is  his  mien  : 
Like  a  dead  Boy  he  is  serene. 

"  The  Danish  Boy,"  like  "  Lucy  Gray,"  was  written  in  Germany  in 
1799.  If  in  either  poem  there  be  terror,  the  terror  is  almost  lost  in 
beautv. 


RUTH. 

Written  in  Ciermany  in  1799;  published  in  1800.  "  Suggested,"  says 
Wordsworth,  "  by  an  account  I  had  of  a  wanderer  in  Somersetshire." 

The  changes  of  text  are  many  and  perplexing.  In  1S02  Wordsworth 
rehandled  the  poem.  Stanza  3  (11.  13-18)  was  then  added,  with  the 
reading  in  11.  17,  18  (altered  in  1827)  : 

She  passed  her  time ;  and  in  this  way- 
Grew  up  to  woman's  height. 

Stanza  39  (11.  229-234)  was  also  then  added,  with  the  reading  in  11.  239, 
230  (altered  in  1S05): 

The  neighbours  grieve  for  her,  and  say- 
That  she  will,  long  before  her  day, 


37^ 


XOTES. 


But  the  chief  change  in  1802  was  an  insertion  between  stan^a  10  and 
stanza  11  {i.e.,  between  1.  60  and  1.  61).  Three  stanzas  (now  11.  127-144) 
were  altered  from  third  to  first  person,  and  were  removed  from  their 
place  in  1800,  —  a  place  which  they  resumed  in  1S05,  —  and  these  three 
stanzas  were  preceded  by  two  new  stanzas,  and  followed  by  two  also 
new.  Of  these  four  new  stanzas  two  have  been  retained  and  two  were 
omitted  from  all  the  editions  after  1805.  The  retained  stanzas  are  now 
the  aSth  (11.  163-16S)  and  the  30th  (11.  175-180)  ;  they  came  as  second 
and  sixth  of  the  insertion  of  1802,  and  the  two  stanzas  not  now  retained, 
which  stood  first  and  last  in  the  inserted  passage,  were  as  follows: 

Of  march  and  ambush,  siege  and  fight, 

Then  did  he  tell ;  and  with  delight 

The  heart  of  Ruth  would  ache ; 

Wild  histories  they  were,  and  dear  : 

But  't  was  a  thing  of  heaven  to  hear 

When  of  himself  he  spake.     (Stanza  11  of  1802.) 

"  It  is  a  purer,  better  mind  : 

O  Maiden  innocent  and  kind 

What  sights  I  might  have  seen  ! 

Even  now  upon  my  eyes  they  break  ! " 

—  And  he  again  began  to  speak 

Of  Lands  where  he  had  been.    (Stanza  17  of  1802.) 

In  1805  the  three  transposed  stanzas  (11.  127-144)  were  put  back  in 
their  former  place;  a  new  stanza,  now  the  29th  (11.  169-174),  was 
written  for  the  inserted  passage  between  1.  60  and  1.  61,  and  it  was 
placed  as  the  third  stanza  of  the  insertion,  the  order  being  (i)  "Of 
march  and  ambush,"  (2)  "  Sometimes  most  earnestly,"  (3)  "  Before  me 
shone,"  (4)  "  No  more  of  this,"  (5)  "  It  is  a  purer."  In  1S15  these  five 
stanzas  were  omitted.  In  1820  tho.se  numbered  2,  3,  4,  were  restored 
and  placed  as  now,  while  i  and  q  were  never  restored. 
3,  4.     In  1800  (only)  : 

.^nd  so,  not  seven  years  old. 
The  slighted  Child. 

8,  9.      Before  1836  : 

And  from  that  oaten  pipe  could  draw 
.All  sounds 

An  exaggeration  corrected. 

26.     Before  1836:  "Ah,  no  !"  —  the  pathetic  "Ah"  being  inappro- 
priate here.     In  1.  27.  "bore"  before  1805  was  "bare." 


NOTJiS.  37  7 


55-57.      Before  1836  : 


He  spake  of  plants  divine  and  strange 

That  ever>-  hour  [1S02  ;  "day"'  iSoo]  their  blossoms  change. 

Ten  thousand  lovely  hues  ! 

73.  Before  1836:  "  And  then  he  said, '  How  sweet  it  were.'  "  "  Sweet  " 
had  been  over-used  by  Wordsworth  in  early  editions,  and  was  banished 
from  many  passages.     See  1.  79  and  1.  98. 

75-77.      Before  1S36 : 

"A  gardener  in  the  shade. 

Still  wandering  with  an  easy  mind. 

To  build  ■' 

The  ideas  of  '  a  gardener  "  and  of  "  wandering  "  did  not  harmonize ; 
edition  1836  read  "  In  sunshine  or  through  shade  "  (altered  as  now,  1S45). 

79.      Before  1S36:  "sweet  years."     See  notes  on  1.  -jt^  and  1.  98. 

86.  Before  1S32  :  "  Dear  thoughts  "  ;  altered  because  "  dearer  "  occurs 
in  1.  90. 

98.  Before  1820:  "Sweet  Ruth  alone"  :  altered  to  avoid  repetition 
of  1.  91. 

133,      In  1802  (only):  "  unhallow'd  "  replaced  "voluptuous." 

135.  Before  1845:  "  lovely  flowers."  And  at  the  same  time,  1845, 
in  1.  138,  "gorgeous  bowers"  (1815-43) — itself  a  substitute  for  the 
earlier  "magic  bowers"  —  became  "favoured  bowers,"  thus  allowing 
the  change  to  be  made  in  1.  135. 

140.  "  Sometimes"  in  1805  replacing  "  often,"  1802,  returned  to  the 
reading  of  1800.  So  also  in  L  142,  "linked  to  "  replaced  "amid,"  and 
in  1.  143  "needs  must  have"  replaced  "wanted  not,"  returning  to  the 
original  text. 

145.     In  1802  (only):  "  111  did  he  live." 

167,  168.  In  1802  (only) :  "  thoughtlessness  "  in  place  of  "  confidence." 
From  1S20  to  1836  : 

"  When  first,  in  confidence  and  pride. 
I  crossed  " 

169-171.      Before  1840 : 

"  It  was  a  fresh  and  glorious  world  — 

A  banner  bright  that  was  ['  shone.'  KS36]  unfurled 

Before  me  suddenly :  " 

175-180.  This  stanza,  written  in  1S02  for  the  insertion  between  1.  60 
and  1.  61,  was  originally  : 


378  NOl'KS. 


"  So  it  was  then,  and  so  is  now  : 

For  Ruth  !  with  thee  I  know  not  how, 

I  feel  my  spirit  burn 

Even  as  the  east  when  day  comes  forth  ; 

And  to  the  west,  and  south,  and  north. 

The  morning  doth  return." 

P'rom  1805  to  1843,  t'l^  ^"^^^  '"o  lines  : 

"  But  wherefore  spealc  of  this  ?   For  now 
Sweet  ['Dear.'  1S36-43]  Ruth!" 

The  last  three  lines  remained  as  in  1802  until  1836,  when  the  present 
text  appeared.  The  alterations  bring  the  lines  into  closer  sequence 
with  the  preceding  stanza. 

181.  Before  1820:  "But  now  the  pleasant  dream  was  gone."  From 
1820  to  1843  ■  "Full  soon  that  purer  mind  was  gone"  (altered,  1S45). 

196-198.      Before  1820  : 

.4nd  there,  exulting  in  her  wrongs, 
Among  the  music  of  her  songs 
She  fearfully  carous'd. 

Lamb  objected  that  this  use  of  "carouse"  was  not  English.     In  1820- 

32: 

.And  there  she  sang  tumultuous  songs, 

By  recollection  of  her  wrongs 
To  fearful  passion  roused. 

The  present  text  is  of  1836.  "Certainly  to  carouse  cups,'  that  is, 
to  empty  them,  "  wrote  Wordsworth,  "  is  the  genuine  English."  So 
in  "Othello,"  II,  3,  55:  "  Roderigo  .  .  .  caroused  potations." 

203.  Clear  brook  in  1836  replaced  "wild  brook."  "  Wild  "  occurs  in 
the  same  line  of  the  preceding  stanza. 

214,  215.      In  1800  (only)  : 

And  to  the  pleasant  banks  of  Tone 
She  took  her  way,  to  dwell  alone 

This  expressed  too  much  deliberation  for  a  wild  creature  of  chance. 
Tone  is  a  river  in  county  Somerset,  which  joins  the  Parret  at  Borough 
Bridge. 

217.      In  1800  (only)  :  "  engines  of  her  grief." 

226.  In  1800 and  1802:  "  (And  in  this  tale  we  all  agree),"  —  altered 
to  prevent  the  intrusion  of  a  personal  element. 

Both  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth,  in  the  Nether  Stowey  and  Alfox- 
den  days,  were  readers  of  William   Bartram's  "  Travels  through  North 


NOTES. 


379 


and  South  Carolina,"  etc.,  —  a  delightful  book.  The  "  feathers  "  bought 
by  Ruth's  lover  from  the  Cherokees,  1.  21,  appear  in  Bartram's  frontis- 
piece,—  a  portrait  of  "  Mico-Chlucco,  the  Long  Warrior,"  and  the  Chero- 
kee head-dress  is  described,  p.  499.  The  Indian  girls  gathering 
strawberries  and  singing  (11.  49-54)  are  from  Bartram,  p.  355,  and  the 
plants  of  11.  55-60  are  derived  from  Bartram's  description  (pp.  159,  160) 
of  the  Gordonia  lasiantJius,  which  "  may  be  said  to  change  and  renew 
its  garments  every  morning  throughout  the  year,  and  every  day  appears 
with  unfading  lustre." 

Wordsworth  has  written  many  poems  in  which  the  influence  of 
nature  as  "law  and  impulse"  is  shown  in  its  beneficent  working. 
Here  the  dangers  to  the  heart  and  life  arising  from  nature  as  impulse, 
apart  from  its  restraining  power,  are  exhibited.  The  Georgian  youth 
sinks  into  moral  degradation  ;  Ruth,  whom  he  has  wronged,  is  incapa- 
ble of  moral  fortitude,  yet  she  finds,  in  her  distraction,  some  healing 
influences  from  the  woods  and  streams  to  which,  in  girlhood,  she  had 
abandoned  herself  in  "  thoughtless  freedom." 

De  Quincey  ("Autobiographic  Sketches,"  vol.  II,  p.  305,  ed.  1854) 
says  that  the  story  of  Ruth  is  founded  on  fact :  "  Wordsworth  himself 
told  me,  in  general  terms,  that  the  case  which  suggested  the  poem  was 
that  of  an  American  lady,  whose  husband  forsook  her  at  the  very  place 
of  embarkation  from  England,  under  circumstances  and  under  expec- 
tations, upon  her  part,  very  much  the  same  as  those  of  Ruth." 

INFLUENCES  OF  BEAUTY    AND   FEAR    IN   BOYHOOD. 

[From  "  The  Prelude,"  Bk.  i,  11.  301-400.] 

This  passage  from  the  first  book  of  "  The  Prelude  "  immediately  pre- 
cedes that  given  separately  by  Wordsworth,  with  the  title  "  Influence 
of  Natural  Objects,"  etc.,  which  in  the  present  selection  follows  next. 
The  same  title  would  indeed  be  appropriate,  but  in  order  to  distinguish 
the  extract  I  have  named  it  "  Influences  of  Beauty  and  Fear  in  Boy- 
hood." 

With  the  description  of  the  moving  mountains,  as  seen  from  the 
boat,  compare  Browning's  lines  in  "The  Englishman  in  Italv": 

Oh,  those  mountains,  their  infinite  movement, 

.Still  moving  with  you  ; 
For  ever  some  new  head  or  breast  of  them 

Thrusts  into  view 
To  observe  the  intruder. 


380  NOTES. 


INFLUENCE    OF    NATURAL    OBJECTS. 

Written  in  1799,  being  an  extract  from  "The  Prelude,"  Bk.  i.  The 
extract  was  first  printed  in  Coleridge's  periodical  The  Friend,  Dec.  28, 
1809,  where  it  follows  Coleridge's  prose  description  of  skating  on  the 
lake  of  Ratzeburg.  The  frozen  lake  of  the  poem  is  Esthwaite;  the 
village,  Hawkshead,  where  Wordsworth  was  a  schoolboy. 

17.     Valleys:  in  "  The  Prelude,"  "  valley." 

27.  In  "The  Prelude,"  "  The  cottage  windows  blazed  through  twi- 
light gloom." 

37.  The  pack  loud-chiming:  until  1840,  "The  pack  loud  bellow- 
ing."    Compare  Kingsley,  of  hounds.  "  Chime,  ye  dappled  darlings  !  " 

40.     Smitten  in  1S36  Replaced  "  Meanwhile,"  —  a  gain  in  vividness. 

50-52.     The  text  dates  from  1827.     Before  1820  : 

To  cut  across  the  image  of  a  Star 
That  gleam'd  upon  the  ice  :  and  oftentimes 
In  1820  : 

To  cross  the  bright  reflection  of  a  Star. 
Image,  that,  flying  still  before  me — gleamed 
Upon  the  glassy  plain  :  and  oftentimes 

In  "  The  Prelude": 

To  cut  across  the  reflex  of  a  star. 
That  fled,  and  flying  still,  etc. 

By  reverting  to  "  cut  across,"  Wordsworth  retained  the  vivid  description 
of  motion  on  skates ;  "  reflex  "  made  the  sense  clear,  and  the  pursuit 
of  the  flying  image  was  an  added  observation  of  1820. 

63.  In  "  The  Prelude,"  "  Till  all  was  tranquil  as  a  dreamless  sleep." 
Perhaps  Wordsworth  thought  —  surely  erroneously — that  "summer 
sea  "  was  inappropriate  as  the  close  of  a  description  of  the  midwinter 
frozen  lake. 

NUTTING. 

Written  in  Germany  in  1799;  published  in  1800.  It  was  intended 
at  first  for  part  of  "The  Prelude,"  but  was  struck  out  "as  not  being 
wanted  there."  "  Like  most  of  my  school-fellows,"  said  Wordsworth, 
"  I  was  an  impassioned  nutter.  For  this  pleasure  the  vale  of  Esthwaite, 
abounding  in  coppice  wood,  furnished  a  very  wide  range.  These  verses 
arose  out  of  the  remembrance  of  feelings  I  had  often  had  when  a  boy, 
and  particularly  in  the  extensive  woods  that  still   [1843]  stretch  from 


NOTES.  381 

the  side  of  Esthvvaite  Lake  towards  (iraytlnvaite,  the  seat  of  the  ancient 
family  of  Sandys." 

a.     This  line  was  added  in  ibo2. 

4.  This  line  was  added  in  1827,  before  which  date  1.  5  was  "when 
forth  I  sallied  from  our  cottage  door."  The  cottage  was  Anne  Tyson's, 
where  Wordsworth  l:)oarded  in  his  school  days. 

6.  Before  181 5:  "And  with  a  wallet."  The  "  and  "  was  superflu- 
ous;  the  "  huge  "  adds  picturesqueness. 

8.     Tow'rd   some  far-distant    wood :    before    1836,    "  Towards   the 
distant    woods "  ;    altered    because     Wordsworth    had    come    to    view 
"  toward  "  as  a  monosyllable. 
9-12.     Before  1815: 

of  Beggar's  weeds 
Put  on  for  tlie  occasion,  by  advice 
And  exhortation  of  my  frugal  Dame. 
Motley  accoutrements !    ["'accoutrement.'"  1802-5.] 

The  "beggar's  weeds"  were  felt  by  Wordsworth  to  be  too  suggestive 
of  a  feeling  of  disgust. 

14-16.     Before  1836  less  vividly  descriptive  : 

-Among  the  woods 
And  o'er  the  pathless  rocks,  I  forc'd  my  way 
Until,  at  length,  I  came 

20.     Tempting  clusters  :  before  1845,  "  milk-white  clusters." 

36.     Notice  the  choice  of  the  word  "  fleeced"  to  harmonize  v\ith  the 

image  of  a  flock  of  sheep.     In  this  line  "  under  "  replaced  "  beneath  " 

in  1845,  perhaps  to  vary  from  '  beneath  "  in  1-2  5  and  1.  30,  and  also  to 

avoid  the  repeated  sound  of  "  th." 

50.     Before    1S36 :    "Even    then,    when  from    the    bower";   altered 

probably   to    avoid    the    thrice-repeated   "  en "    sound    in    the    opening 

words. 

53.     In  1836  "saw"  was  inserted,  probably  to  remove  the  stress  on 

"  the  "  in  "  the  intruding  sky." 

The  poem  —  a  fragment  of  autobiography  —  illustrates  the  processes 

and  incidents  by  which  Wordsworth's  animal  joy  in  nature  in  boyhood 

was  gradually  purified  and  spiritualised. 


3S3 


NO  TES. 


MAITHKW 


Written  in  1799  and  published  in  1800.  The  text  is  unchanged, 
except  that  in  1.  24  "dew"  in  1815  replaced  "oil."  The  Rev.  William 
Taylor,  schoolmaster  at  Hawkshead,  close  to  Esthwaite  Lake,  taught 
Wordsworth  from  17S2  to  1786.  In  the  "Address  to  the  Scholars  of 
the  Village  School  of ,"  Wordsworth  speaks  of  Taylor  as  "our  com- 
mon Friend  and  Father."  And  in  "The  Prelude,"  Bk.  x,  11.  532-544, 
he  tells  how  he  turned  aside  to  seek  Taylor's  grave.  Some  features  of 
the  character  of  Matthew  are  derived  from  Taylor,  but  it  is  an  ideal 
construction,  not  a  portrait.  "  This  and  other  poems  connected  with 
Matthew,"  said  Wordsworth  (Fenwick  note),  "would  not  gain  by  a 
literal  detail  of  facts.  Like  the  Wanderer  in  "  The  Excursion,"  this 
Schoolmaster  was  made  up  of  several,  both  of  his  class  and  men  of 
other  occupations.  I  do  not  ask  pardon  for  what  there  is  of  untruth  in 
such  verses,  considered  strictly  as  matters  of  fact.  It  is  enough  if,  being 
true  and  consistent  in  spirit,  they  move  and  teach  in  a  manner  not 
unworthy  of  a  Poet's  calling."  Wordsworth  dealt  with  landscape  in 
the  same  ideal  way,  bringing  together  features  from  several  places  and 
harmonising  them  into  unity.  With  the  opening  stanza  compare  the 
second  and  third  stanzas  of  the  "  Ode  to  Duty."  De  Quincey  writes 
("  On  Wordsworth's  Poetry  ") :  "  Whosoever  looks  searchingly  into  the 
characteristic  genius  of  Wordsworth,  will  see  that  he  does  not  willingly 
deal  with  a  passion  in  its  direct  aspect,  or  presenting  an  unmodified 
contour,  but  in  forms  more  complex  and  oblique,  and  when  passing 
under  the  shadow  of  some  secondary  passion.  Joy,  for  instance,  that 
wells  up  from  constitutional  sources,  joy  that  is  ebullient  from  youth  to 
age,  and  cannot  cease  to  sparkle,  he  yet  exhibits  in  the  person  of 
Matthew,  the  village  schoolmaster,  as  touched  and  overgloomed  by 
memories  of  sorrow." 

32.     Of  thee  returns  (1815)  to  original  text  from  1805  "to  thee." 

THE   TWO    APRIL   MORNINGS. 

Written  in  1799  and  published  in  1800.     .See  note  on  last  poem. 
25-28.      In  1802  this  stanza  replaced  the  following  of  iSoo  : 

"  And  on  that  slope  of  springing  corn 
The  self-same  crimson  liue 
Fell  from  the  sky  that  April  morn, 
The  same  which  now  I  view ! " 


XOTF.S.  383 

Did  Wordsworth  believe  that  he  had  misstated  the  fact  of  nature  when 
he  described  a  crimson  hue  falling  from  the  sky  upon  a  slope  of  corn  ? 
29,  30.     Before  181  5  : 

"  With  rod  and  line  my  silent  sport 
1  plied  by  Derwent's  wave," 

31.  In  1837  Wordsworth  substituted  this  line  for  the  earlier  "  And, 
coming  to  the  church,  stopped  short";  altered  lest  for  a  moment  the 
grave  should  be  supposed  to  be  within  the  church. 

58.     A  bough:  before  1S27,  "  his  bough." 

"Some  of  Wordsworth's  pieces,"  writes  Pater  ("  Appreciations,"  p. 
57),  "pieces  prompted  by  a  sort  of  half-playful  mysticism,  like  the 
Daffodils  and  The  Two  April  Alorttings,  are  distinguished  by  a  certain 
quaint  gaiety  of  metre,  and  rival  by  their  perfect  execution,  in  this 
respect,  similar  pieces  among  our  own  Elizabethan  or  contemporary 
French  poetry." 

THE    FOUNTAIN. 

Written  in  1799  and  published  in  1800.     See  note  on  *  Matthew." 

9.  Before  1820 :  "Now,  Matthew,  let  us  try  to  match."  The  'said 
I  "  of  the  present  text  is  a  convenient  explanation. 

21.  Before  1837:  "  Down  to  the  vale  this  water  steers."  Probably 
W^ordsworth  doubted  the  propriety  of  the  word  "  steers,"  or  thought 
that  by  being  somewhat  unusual  in  this  application  it  diverted  feeling 
from  the  spirit  of  the  passage.  The  stanza  was  often  rehandled  in  MS. 
by  Wordsworth,  several  of  which  experiments  are  printed  in  Knight's 
"  Wordsworth,"  vol.  II,  p.  77. 

37,  38.     Before  1837  : 

"  The  blackbird  in  the  summer  trees, 
The  lark  upon  the  hill," 

The  alteration  got  rid  of  one  of  four  "  th  "  sounds  in  the  two  short 
lines,  and  rightly  described  the  lark  as  '  above,"  not  '  upon,"  the 
hill. 

58-60.  The  identity  of  rhyme — "plains,"  "plains'"  —  possibly  es- 
caped Wordsworth's  observation. 

63.  He  grasped  my  hand  replaced  in  181  5  the  earlier  "he  grasped 
his  hands,"  which  some  readers  may  prefer  as  a  more  instinctive  expres- 
sion of  grief. 


}84  NOTES. 


IIART-LKAI'   WELL. 

Written  early  in  iSoo  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  and  published  in  the 
same  year.  "  The  first  eight  stanzas,"  says  Wordsworth,  "  were  com- 
posed extempore  one  winter  evening  in  the  cottage;  when,  after  having 
tired  myself  with  laboring  at  an  awkward  passage  in  '  The  lirothers,'  I 
started  with  a  sudden  impulse  to  this  to  get  rid  of  the  other,  and 
finished  it  in  a  day  or  two.  My  sister  and  I  had  passed  the  place  a  few 
weeks  before  in  our  wild  winter  journey  from  Sockburn  on  the  banks 
of  the  Tees  to  Grasmere.  A  peasant  whom  we  met  near  the  spot  told 
us  the  story  so  far  as  concerned  the  name  of  the  Well  and  the  Hart, 
and  pointed  out  the  Stones.  Both  the  Stones  and  the  Well  are  objects 
that  may  easily  be  missed;  the  tradition  by  this  time  [1843]  "^^Y  be 
extinct  in  the  neighborhood  ;  the  man  who  related  it  to  us  was  very 
old."  The  well  is  three  and  a  half  miles  from  Richmond  in  Yorkshire. 
The  aspens  and  the  pillars  have  disappeared.  For  miles  around  there  is 
a  barren  moor.     The  water  still  falls  into  the  "  cup  of  stone." 

This  poem  of  animal  anguish  has  something  in  its  motive  in  common 
with  Coleridge's  "  The  Ancient  Mariner."  The  newly  awakened  sensi- 
bility and  humanity  of  the  i8th  century  overflowed  on  the  lower  animals. 
Passages  in  Sterne,  in  Cowper,  and  in  Burns  give  an  earlier  expression 
to  this  feeling.  With  Wordsworth  the  hart  is  viewed,  not  merely  as  an 
independent,  individual  creature,  but  as  a  member  of  the  great  fraternity 
of  nature,  and  sympathised  with  in  its  sufferings  by 

The  Being  that  is  in  tlie  clouds  and  air, 
That  is  in  the  green  leaves  among  the  groves. 

I.     Wensley  Moor,  in  the  Nortli  Riding  of  Yorkshire. 
3,  4.      Before  1836  : 

He  turned  aside  towards  a  Vassal's  door, 
And  "  Bring  another,"  etc. 

Altered  to  avoid  the  dissyllabic  "  towards." 

19.  Blanch  in  1827  replaced  "  Brach,"  a  general  name  for  a  kind  of 
hunting-dog  (commonly  used  of  a  female).  "  Music  "  was  the  name  of 
the  Hutchinsons'  dog,  celebrated  in  verse  by  Wordsworth.  "  Brach  " 
occurs  in  "  King  Lear,"  and  one  of  Lear's  dogs  was  "  Blanch,"  whence, 
perhaps,  the  name. 

20.  In  1800  (only)  :  "  weary  up  the  mountain." 

21 .  Before  1827  :  "  chid  and  cheer'd,"  —  but  he  would  first  "  cheer," 
and,  that  failing,  would  "  chide." 


NOTES.  385 

25-27.  Ill  1800  (only)  :  "  chase  "  was  the  word  in  1.  25  and  "  race  " 
(twice)  in  1.  27. 

35.     Cracked:   before  1820,  "  smack'd." 

38-40.  Before  1S20  I.  40  was  "  And  foaming  like  a  mountain  cata- 
ract," rhyming  with  "glorious  act"  in  1.  38.  Perhaps  Wordsworth 
thought  1.  40  an  exaggeration  ;  no  doubt  he  was  glad  to  avoid  "  act  " 
so  soon  after  "  cracked." 

42.  Before  1820  :  "  His  nose  half-touch'd."  "  Nostril  "  is  more  cor- 
rect in  speaking  of  a  hart. 

46.  Before  1820:  ''Was  never  man  in  such  a  joyful  case";  with 
which  "  place  "  rhymed  in  1.  48.  Probably  altered  to  avoid  the  repeated 
sound  of  "  gazed,"  ''  gazed,"  and  "  place." 

49.  In  1800  (only) :  ''  And  turning." 

50.  An  extravagance  of  all  earlier  editions,  "  nine  roods  "  was  re- 
moved in  1845. 

51.  In  iSoo  (only):  ''  Three  several  marks  which  with  his  hoofs  the 
Beast  " ;  altered,  probably,  because  the  statement  "  with  his  hoofs  " 
was  awkward. 

52.  Before  1820  :  "  verdant  ground." 

54.  Before  1836:  "  living  eyes  "  ;  by  the  alteration  past  generations 
are  more  obviously  included. 

65.     Before  1827:  "gallant  brute!" 

70.     Paramour,  lady-love  ;  not  used  in  an  evil  sense. 

75,  76.  Swale,  a  tributary  of  the  river  Ure  ;  by  their  junction  they 
form  the  Yorkshire  Ouse. 

79,  80.     Before  181 5  : 

And  soon  the  Knight  perforni'd  what  he  had  said, 
The  fame  whereof  through  many  a  land  did  ring. 

The  exaggeration  of  "  many  a  land  "  is  removed. 

90.  Before  1820:  '' journey'd  with  his  Paramour."  The  alteration 
adds  an  idea  in  "  wondering." 

98.  In  1800  (only)  :  "  To  curl  the  blood";  altered  because"  curdle  " 
is  the  correct  form,  and  yet  did  not  metrically  suit  the  line. 

100.  Before  1815:  "to  thanking  hearts";  a  song  may  h^t  for  the 
heart,  but  it  must  be  to  the  ear. 

loi.     Hawes  .   .   .  Richmond,  towns  in  Yorkshire. 

113.  Before  1815  :  "hills";  but  for  the  imagination  there  was  only 
the  one  hill. 

142.  The  text  in  181 5  replaced  clumsy  lines  of  earlier  date  :  in  1800, 
"To  this  place  from  the  stone  upon  the  steep"  ;  in  1802,  "  From  the 
stone  upon  the  summit  of  the  steep." 


386  A'OTES. 

150.      Before  1S32  :  "  this  fountain." 

153.     Before  1836:  "scented  thorn." 

157.  Before  1827  :  "  But  now  here  's  neither  grass."  In  general,  in 
later  editions,  Wordsworth  avoids  such  contractions  as  "  here  's." 

168.     Before  1815:  "For  them  the  quiet  creatures." 

The  changes,  it  will  be  seen,  were  nearly  all  in  details  of  workman- 
ship. 

THE    BROTHERS. 

Written  in  i8oo  and  published  in  the  same  year.  On  August  i, 
Dorothy  Wordsworth  "  copied  '  The  Brothers.'  "  It  is  therefore  a  little 
earlier  in  chronological  order  than  "  Michael."  In  earlier  editions  the 
following  note^ — omitted  in  1832 — appeared:  "This  Poem  was  in- 
tended to  be  the  concluding  poem  of  a  series  of  pastorals,  the  scene  of 
which  was  laid  among  the  mountains  of  Cumberland  and  Westmore- 
land. I  mention  this  to  apologise  for  the  abruptness  with  which  the 
poem  begins."  In  the  Feiiwick  tiote  Wordsworth  tells  us  that  the  poem 
was  composed  in  a  grove  at  the  northeastern  end  of  Grasmere  Lake, 
since  in  great  part  destroyed  by  making  the  road.  "  The  poem  arose 
out  of  the  fact  mentioned  to  me  at  Ennerdale  that  a  shepherd  had 
fallen  asleep  upon  the  top  of  the  rock  called  The  Pillar,  and  perished 
as  here  described,  his  staff  being  left  midway  on  the  rock."  This, 
says  Knight,  is  the  only  poem  of  Wordsworth's  referring  to  Ennerdale  ; 
but  the  places  are  treated  ideally.  Wordsworth's  "Pillar"  cannot  be 
the  Pillar  Rock,  a  crag  difficult  of  ascent,  nor  does  it  quite  agree  with 
the  Pillar  Mountain. 

The  retouches  are  numerous,  and  some  of  them  are  interesting: 

6-8.     Before  1827: 

"  Upon  the  forehead  of  a  jutting  crag 

.Sit  perched  with  book  and  pencil  on  their  knee 

And  look  ■' 

Altered  to  de.scribe  the  sketcher's  attitude  more  correctly,  —  "pencil  in 
hand,"  not  "  on  the  knee." 

24-26.      Eess  vividly  before  1S36: 

Who  turn'd  her  large  round  wheel  in  the  open  air 
\\'ith  back  and  forward  steps. 

Probably  the  change  was  suggested  by  the  desire  to  treat  "  Towards  " 
in  1.  26  as  a  monosyllable  as  in  1.  80,  which  before  1836  was  "  Towards 
the  church-yard  he  had  turn'd  aside." 


NOTES.  387 

31.  Snow-white  in  1802  replaced  "snowy";  altered  to  confine  the 
resemblance  to  colour. 

39-44.  Leonard's  age  was  changed  in  1815,  partly  to  allow  time  for 
the  growth  of  such  deep  affection  between  the  brothers.  See  note  on 
1.  297.     Before  1815  as  follows: 

.     .     .     who  ere  his  thirteenth  year 
Had  changed  his  calling,  with  the  mariners 
A  fellow-mariner,  and  so  had  fared 
Through  twenty  seasons. 

56.  The  broad  blue  wave:  before  1840,  "the  broad  green  wave," 
—  a  descriptive  error.  Some  of  the  features  of  Leonard's  character, 
and  especially  his  feeling  when  at  sea  for  rural  pleasures,  are  taken 
from  Wordsworth's  brother  John.  See  the  poem,  "  When  to  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  busy  world." 

88.  Even  to  hope :  until  1832,  "he  had  hopes,"  which  went  badly 
in  immediate  connection  with  tbe  "  he  had  seen  "  of  1.  89.  Altered  in 
1832  to  "  hope  was  his";  present  reading,  1S36. 

96.  Imagined  that  he  saw:  before  1815,  "he  thought  that  he 
perceiv'd." 

99.  Everlasting  hills :  less  correctly  before  1S20,  "  the  eternal 
hills";  in  1820  "everlasting"  replaced  "eternal,"  and  in  iS27"the" 
was  omitted. 

103.  Perused  him:  before  1815,  "He  scanned  him,"  where  the 
"he"  and  "liim,"  referring  to  different  persons,  were  defective  in  clear- 
ness. 

139.     Pike,  a  peak,  hill,  summit. 

143,  144.      More  like  an  omen  in  editions  before  1827  : 

Companions  for  each  other  :  ten  years  back. 
Close  to  those  brother  fountains,  the  huge  crag 
Was  rent  with  lightning  —  one  is  dead  and  gone, 

"  Dead  and  gone"  are  words  hardly  appropriate  to  a  sjiring  of  water. 
A  note  was  added  from  1800  to  1805:  "The  impressive  circumstance 
here  described  actually  took  place  some  years  ago  in  this  country,  upon 
an  eminence  called  Kidstow  Pike,  one  of  the  highest  of  the  mountains 
that  surround  Hawes-water.  The  summit  of  the  Pike  was  stricken  by 
lightning ;  and  every  trace  of  one  of  the  fountains  disappeared,  while 
the  other  continued  to  flow  as  before." 

169.  This  fine  line  was  added  in  1802.  Leonard  dare  not  say  "  a 
brother  could  not  find  his  brother's  grave." 


388 


NOTES. 


182,  183.  In  edd.  iSoo  to  1805  a  note  was  given:  "There  is  not 
anything  more  worthy  of  remark  in  the  manners  of  the  inhabitants  ot 
these  mountains  than  the  tranquillity,  I  might  say  indifference,  with 
which  they  think  and  talk  upon  the  subject  of  death.  Some  of  the 
country  church-yards,  as  here  described,  do  not  contain  a  single  tomb- 
stone, and  most  of  them  have  a  very  small  number." 

187.  For  eight-score  winters  past,  added  in  1802.  Perhaps  inad- 
vertently omitted  in  1800. 

213.  Kept  up  :  in  1800,  "  preserv'd '" ;  altered  in  1802,  perhaps  to 
bring  out  the  idea  of  resistance  to  ditificulty. 

244-247.     Before  181 5  two  lines: 

The  only  kinsman  near  them  in  tlie  house, 
Vet  he  being  old,  they  had  much  love  to  spare, 

Perhaps  Wordsworth  thought  there  was  a  want  of  tenderness  in  attrib- 
uting to  Walter  Ewbank's  old  age  the  fact  that  the  boys  had  love  to 
spare. 

269.  Before  1836:  "The  finest  Sunday  that  the  Autumn  ^aw"; 
altered,  probably,  to  avoid  the  crowding  of  the  ''  th  "  sounds. 

275.  Before  1836:  "Where  foot  could  come,  to  one  or  both  of 
theni."  Perhaps  Wordsworth  considered  this  and  the  next  line  too 
heavy  with  monosyllables. 

283.  House  and  field  :  before  1827,  "twenty  pounds."  The  change 
makes  the  Priest's  wager  more  remote  from  actual  betting. 

297.  Before  181 5:  "And,  though  a  very  stripling,  twelve  years 
old."     See  note  on  11.  39-44- 

312.     Joyous  festival :  before  1836,  "  very  festival." 

320.  Youth.  Here,  in  1.  381  and  1.  386,  "  youth  "  was  substituted 
in  181 5  for  "  lad."     So  in  "  Michael,"  1.  299. 

323-325.     Before  1S36  less  closely  connected  with  the  churchyard: 

If  ever  the  day  came  when  he  was  rich. 
He  would  return,  and  on  his  Father's  land 
He  would  grow  old  among  us. 

327.  Happy:  in  1800,  "as  happy";  altered  for  sake  of  the  metre 
in   1S02. 

349.  Dwelt :  before  1827,  "  liv'd  ";  altered,  perhaps,  because 
"lived"  had  been  used  in  1.  343. 

359-365.  The  prosaic  text  of  earlier  editions  was  elevated  to  poetry 
in  1820;  previously: 


NOTES.  389 

With  two  or  three  companions,  whom  it  chanc'd 

Some  further  business  summon'd  to  a  house 

Which  stands  at  the  Dale-head.     James,  tir'd  perhaps, 

Or  from  some  other  cause  remain'd  behind. 

You  see  yon  Precipice  —  it  almost  looks 

Like  some  vast  building 

369-375.  This  passage  was  straggling  and  prosaic  in  1800;  it  was 
slightly  touched  in  1802  and  1815.  Coleridge  in  "  Biographia  Literaria" 
(181 7)  spoke  of  it  as  a  string  of  prosaisms  in  metre.  It  was  recast  in 
1820,  further  improved  in  1827,  but  not  set  finally  right  until  1836.  The 
earhest  form,  1800,  may  here  suffice: 

James,  pointing  to  its  summit,  over  which 

They  all  had  purposd  to  return  together, 

Inform'd  them  that  he  there  would  wait  for  them  : 

They  parted,  and  his  comrades  pass'd  that  way 

Some  two  hours  after,  but  they  did  not  find  him 

At  the  appointed  place,  a  circumstance 

Of  which  they  took  no  heed  :  but  one  of  them 

Going  by  chance,  at  night,  into  the  house 

Which  at  this  time  was  James's  home,  there  learn"d 

379.  In  1800:  "Some  went,  and  some  towards  the  lake:  ere 
noon  "';  in  1S20  :  "  Some  hastened,  some  towards  the  lake:  ere  noon  "; 
altered  to  the  present  te.xt  in  1836,  when  Wordsworth  treated  "  towards  " 
as  a  monosyllable. 

397.    On  the  soft  heath  :  before  1836,  "  Upon  the  grass."    The  "aery 
summit  crowned  with  heath,"  1.  369,  was  introduced  in  1820.    Wordsworth 
now  makes  this  passage  agree  with  the  description  in  1.  369.     On  the 
Pillar  Mountain  heath  may  be  found,  but  not  on  the  Pillar  Rock. 
401-405.      Before  1S36  as  follows: 

And  so  no  doubt  he  {Derish'd :  at  the  time. 

We  guess,  that  in  his  hands  he  must  have  had  ["held,"  1S27-32] 

His  Shepherd's  staff ;  for  midway  in  the  cliff 

It  had  been  caught :  and  there  for  many  years 

It  hung — and  mouldered  there. 

406-408.      Before  181  5  as  follows: 

but  he  felt 
Tears  rushing  in  :  both  left  the  spot  in  silence. 

413.  Altered  in  1836  to  avoid  "towards"  as  a  dissyllable;  pre- 
viously :  "  Pointing  towards  the  Cottage,  he  entreated." 

415.  Earnest  voice:  before  1836,  "fervent  \oice " ;  altered,  per- 
haps, to  avoid  the  idea  of  heat. 


39  o  AZOTES. 

422.  liefore  1836:  "Were  with  him  in  his  heart;  his  cherish'd 
hopes  "  ;  the  alteration  adds  meanHig. 

428.  Before  1836:  "He  travelled  on  to  Egremont."  Egremont,  a 
market  town  of  County  Cumberland,  five  miles  southeast  of  Whitehaven. 

429.  In  1800  :  "  That  night,  address'd  a  letter  to  the  Priest '" ; 
altered  in  1802,  perhaps  because  "address'd  a  letter"  is  a  somewhat 
prosaic  expression. 

"The  mountains,""  writes  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  "are  not  with  Words- 
worth a  symbol  of  anti-social  feeling.  On  the  contrary,  they  are  in 
their  proper  place  as  the  background  of  the  simple  domestic  affections. 
He  loves  his  native  hills,  not  in  the  Byronic  fashion,  as  a  savage  wilder- 
ness, but  as  the  appropriate  framework  in  which  a  healthy  social  order 
can  permanently  maintain  itself.  That,  for  example,  is,  as  he  tells  us, 
the  thought  which  inspired  The  Brothers,  a  poem  which  excells  all 
modern  idylls  in  weight  of  meaning  and  depth  of  feeling,  by  virtue  of 
the  idea  thus  embodied,"  —  and  see  what  follows,  "  Hours  in  a  Library," 
Xin  {Cornhill  Ulagazine),  "  Wordsworth's  Ethics." 


THE    PET-LAMB. 

Written  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  in  1800,  and  published  the  same 
year.  Barbara  Lewthwaite  was  "one  of  two  most  lovely  sisters";  but 
she  was  not,  in  fact,  the  child  whom  Wordsworth  had  seen  and  over- 
heard as  described  in  the  poem.  The  name  was  chosen  because  Bar- 
bara was  so  beautiful:  "  Were  those  two  Angels  that  I  have  just  seen  ?" 
asked  Wordsworth's  brother  John,  when  he  visited  his  brother  at  Gras- 
mere for  the  first  time.  Barbara,  who  was  vain  of  the  distinction  con- 
ferred on  her  by  the  poem,  was  living  at  Ambleside  in  1843. 

The  text  was  hardly  altered.  Line  5,  before  1836,  opened  thus: 
"  No  other  sheep  were  near." 

17.  Right  towards  replaced  in  1836  "Towards,"  to  bring  it  to  a 
monosyllabic  pronunciation.  The  other  retouches  are  too  slight  to 
deserve  record,  with  the  exception  of  11.  57-60  which  in  1802  replaced 
the  I  Sod  reading: 

"  Here  thou  need'st  not  dread  the  raven  in  the  sky. 
He  will  not  come  to  thee,  our  Cottage  is  hard  by, 
Night  and  day  thou  art  safe  as  living  thing  can  be. 
Be  happy  then  and  rest,  what  is 't  that  aileth  thee  ? " 

The  gain  in  diversifying  the  rhyme  sounds  may  have  been  one  motive 
for  the  change. 


NOTES.  391 


"IT    WAS    AX    APRIL     MORNING:     FRKSH     AND    CLEAR." 

Written  at  Grasmere  in  1800  and  published  in  the  same  year.  "  The 
poem,"  says  Wordsworth,  "  was  suggested  on  the  banks  of  the  brook 
that  runs  through  Easedale,  which  is,  in  some  parts  of  its  course,  as 
wild  and  beautiful  as  brook  can  be.  I  have  composed  thousands  of 
verses  by  the  side  of  it." 

9-13.     Before  1845  • 

The  budding  groves  appeard  as  if  in  haste 
To  spur  the  steps  of  June  ;  as  if  their  shades 
Of  various  green  were  hindrances  that  stood 
Between  them  and  their  object :  yet,  meanwhile 
There  was  such  deep  contentment  in  the  air 

It  may  be  doubted  that  this  alteration  of  Wordsworth's  old  age  effected 
any  real  gain. 

15.  Before  1845  :  "  Vet  leafiess,  seemed  as  though  the  countenance." 
"  Seemed  "  being  introduced  in  1.  9,  now  disappeared  from  1.  i  5. 

"  Emma  "  is  Dorothy  Wordsworth.  Compare  the  "  Emmeline  "  of 
"  To  a  Butterfly  "  and  "  The  Sparrow's  Xest."  The  walk  into  Easedale 
was  found  by  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  three  days  after  they  entered 
their  Grasmere  cottage.  "  This  long  remained,  "  says  Wordsworth,  "  our 
favourite  haunt."  Compare  11.  40,  41.  In  several  of  the  "  Poems  on 
the  Naming  of  Places  "  there  is  some  appropriateness  to  the  person 
after  whom  the  place  was  named.  Lines  in  the  poem  "  Composed  a 
few  miles  above  Tintern  Abbey,"  addressed  to  his  sister,  perhaps  suggest 
what  was  the  appropriateness  here: 

W  hen  thy  mind 
Shall  be  a  mansion  for  all  lovely  forms. 
Thy  memory  be  as  a  dwelling-place 
For  all  sweet  sounds  and  harmonies. 


TO    JOANNA. 

Written  at  Grasmere  in  1800  and  published  in  the  same  year. 
Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in  her  Journal,  Aug.  23,  1800:  "  W.  read 
'  Peter  Bell '  and  the  poem  of  'Joanna '  beside  the  Rothay  by  the  road- 
side." Joanna  was  Joanna  Hutchinson,  the  sister  of  Wordsworth's 
wife ;  she  was  not,  in  fact,  city-bred,  nor  could  she  have  been  absent 
from  Grasmere  for  two  years  (1.  13),  for  Wordsworth  had  only  settled 
in  Grasmere  in  December,  1799.     The  "steeple-tower"  (1.  20)  is  that 


392  NOTES. 

of  Grasmere;  the  firs  (1.  19)  —  now  gone  —  were  by  the  roadside  near 
the  church;  the  "lofty  barrier"  (1.  44)  is  part  of  Helm-crag.  It  is  not 
known  whether  Wordsworth  actually  carved  Joanna's  name,  or  did 
not.  The  echoing  of  Joanna's  laugh,  he  admits,  "  is  an  extravagance, 
though  the  effect  of  the  reverberation  of  voices  in  some  parts  of  the 
mountains  is  very  striking  ";  and  he  refers  to  the  description  of  the 
echo  of  a  lamb's  bleat  in  "The  Excursion,"  Kk.  iv,  II.  402-412,  as  un- 
exaggerated. 

6.  Altered  in  1836  to  avoid  a  dissyllabic  "towards";  previously: 
"  Is  slow  towards  [toward,  1827]  the  sympathies  of  them." 

15.     Be:  before  1836,  "  are";  altered  to  subjunctive  mood  after  "  if." 

28.  Runic.  Runes  were  phonetic  signs  of  our  Teutonic  ancestors; 
the  alphabet  is  called,  from  its  first  six  letters,  "  futhork." 

32-34.  These  lines  mean  that  although  tlie  speaker  had  true  love 
for  Joanna,  he  had  also  a  little  malicious  pleasure  in  telling  of  the  re- 
venge of  the  echoes  for  her  laughter  at  his  look  of  ravishment  (11.  52, 
53).  In  1.  33  "  between  "  in  1836  replaced  "  betwixt,"  a  change  made  in 
several  other  passages. 

43,  44.  Another  change  made  to  avoid  a  dissyllabic  "  towards  " ; 
before  1836: 

Which  looks  towards  [toward,  1S27]  the  East,  1  there  stopp'd  short 
And  trac'd 

57.  Hammar-scar,  a  name  now  disused,  applied  to  some  rocks  on 
the  flank  of  Silver-how,  to  the  wood  around  them,  and  also  to  the 
gorge  between  Silver-how  and  Loughrigg.  From  old  Norse  hantar,  a 
steep  broken  rock  (Knight). 

72.  Before  1827  :  "Is  not  for  me  to  tell;  but  sure  I  am."  Pos- 
sibly Wordsworth  thought  this  line  too  heavily  monosyllabic. 

83.  Before  1845:  "Joanna's  name  upon  the  living  stone."  The 
chiselling  was  "  into  "  not  "  upon  "  the  stone." 

We  know  that  Wordsworth  was  acquainted  with  Drayton's  "  Polyol- 
bion  "  (see  notes  on  "At  the  Grave  of  Burns");  and  in  the  Thirtieth 
Song,  which,  as  treating  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  Words- 
worth would  have  known  especially  well,  occur  lines  which  probably 
suggested  the  extravagance  of  the  echoed  laugh  : 

Which  Copland  scarce  had  spoke,  but  quickly  every  hill. 
Upon  her  verge  that  stands,  tlie  neighboring  vallies  fill : 
Helvillon  from  his  lieight,  it  through  the  mountains  threw, 
From  whom  as  soon  again,  the  sound  Dunbalrase  drew, 
From  whose  stone-trophied  head,  it  on  to  Wendross  went, 
Which  tow"rds  the  sea  again,  resounded  it  to  Dent, 


NOTES.  393 

That  Brodwater  therewith  within  her  banks  astountl. 

In  sailing  to  the  sea,  told  it  to  Egreniound, 

Whose  buildings,  walks,  and  streets,  with  echoes  loud  and  long, 

Did  mightily  commend  old  Copland  for  her  song. 


"THERE    IS    AN.  EMINENCE  — OF   THESE   OUR    HILLS." 

Written  in  iSoo  and  published  in  that  year.  Wordsworth  confesses 
that  the  "  Eminence  "  could  not,  in  fact,  be  seen  from  the  orchard-seat. 
"  It  rises  above  the  road  by  the  side  of  Grasmere  Lake,  towards  Kes- 
wick, and  its  name  is  Stone-Arthur." 

5.     Peak:  before  1845,  "cliff." 

17.  Before  181 5:  "Hath  said,  this  lonesome  Peak  shall  bear  my 
Name."  Wordsworth's  contemplative  passion  for  solitude  and  also 
his  life  of  the  affections  are  expressed  or  signified  in  this  poem. 


THE    CHILDLESS    FATHER. 

Written  at  Town-end,  Grasmere  ;  dated  by  Wordsworth  iSoo,  and 
published  on  January  30  of  that  year  in  The  Mornins;  Post :  again,  in 
"  Lyrical  Ballads,"  1800.  Wordsworth  {Fenwick  note)  says  that  the 
funeral  basin  was  in  use  at  Cockermouth  when  he  was  a  child;  it  was 
placed  upon  a  table  covered  with  white  cloth  in  front  of  the  house. 
''  The  huntings  on  foot,"  he  adds.  "  in  which  the  old  man  is  supposed 
to  join  as  here  described,  were  of  common,  almost  habitual,  occurrence 
in  our  vales  when  I  was  a  boy." 

9,  10.  These  lines  are  of  1827,  In  the  earliest  version,  1800,  the 
table  appears : 

The  bason  of  boxwood,  just  six  months  before. 
Had  stood  on  the  table  at  Timothy's  door: 

In  1820  Wordsworth  thought  that  "bason  of  boxwood  "  niiglu  be 
supposed  to  be  a  basin  made  of  boxwood,  and  he  explains  the  custom 
in  the  text  as  well  as  the  note  : 

The  bason  had  offered,  just  six  months  before, 
Fresh  sprigs  of  green  boxwood  at  Timothy's  door. 

The  reserve  of  passion  in  this  poem  heightens  the  pathos;  the  old  joy 
of  the  chase  still  lives  in  Timothy's  heart  ;  the  new  sorrow  is  signified 
only  by  a  tear  and  the  necessary  act  of  making  fast  the  cottage  door. 


394  .VOT/'S. 


MICHAEL. 

This  poem  was  written  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  between  October 
and  December,  1800,  and  was  published  in  tlie  second  volume  of  "  Lyri- 
cal Ballads,"  which  is  dated  1800.  In  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal 
for  the  nth  Oct.,  1800,  we  read:  "  After  dinner  we  walked  up  Greenhead 
Gill  in  search  of  a  sheepfold.  .  .  .  The  sheepfold  is  falling  away.  It 
is  built  nearly  in  the  form  of  a  heart  unequally  divided."  Other  entries 
'tell  us  of  Wordsworth's  working  at  "  the  sheepfold  poem  "  until  Novem- 
ber 12,  and  when  she  writes  on  December  9,  "  W.  finished  his  poem 
to-day,"  the  reference  is  probably  to  "  Michael."  Greeilhead  Ghyll  is 
not  far  from  Dove  Cottage,  Grasmere;  when  Wordsworth  in  1843  ^^^^' 
tated  the  Fetiwick  notes,  the  ruins  of  the  sheepfold  remained.  The 
precise  spot  cannot  now  be  identified.  "  Michael's  cottage  stood,"  says 
Professor  Knight,  "  where  the  coach-house  and  stables  of  '  the  Hollins' 
now  stand."  The  name  of  the  Evening  Star  was  not  in  fact  given  to 
this  house,  but  to  another  on  the  same  side  of  the  valley,  more  to  the 
north.  "  The  character  and  circumstances  of  Luke,"  said  Wordsworth 
{Fenwick  note),  "  were  taken  from  a  family  to  whom  had  belonged,  many 
years  before,  the  house  we  lived  in  at  Town-end,  along  with  some  fields 
and  woodlands  on  the  eastern  shore  of  Grasmere."  Wordsworth  told 
Thomas  Poole  of  Nether  Stowey  that  in  writing  the  poem  he  had 
Poole's  character,  as  suggesting  features  for  that  of  Michael,  often 
before  his  eyes,  and  sometimes  thought  he  was  delineating  such  a  man 
as  Poole  would  have  been  under  the  same  circumstances  (Mrs.  Sand- 
ford's  "Thomas  Poole  and  his  Friends,"  vol.  II,  p.  55).  "I  have 
attempted,"  h.e  writes  to  Poole,  "  to  give  a  picture  of  a  man  of  strong 
mind  and  lively  sensibility,  agitated  by  two  of  the  most  powerful  affec- 
tions of  the  human  heart,  —  the  parental  affection  and  the  love  of  prop- 
erty, landed  property,  including  the  feelings  of  inheritance,  home  and  per- 
sonal and  family  independence."  And  to  Charles  James  Fox  he  wrote, 
Jan.  14, 1801  :  "  In  the  two  poems, '  The  Brothers  '  and '  Michael,'  I  have 
attempted  to  draw  a  picture  of  the  domestic  affections,  as  I  know  they 
exist  among  a  class  of  men  who  are  now  almost  confined  to  the  north 
of  England.  They  are  small  independent  proprietors  of  land,  here 
called  statesmen  {i.e.,  estates-men],  men  of  respectable  education,  who 
daily  labour  on  their  little  properties.  .  .  .  Their  little  tract  of  land 
serves  as  a  kind  of  rallying-point  for  their  domestic  feelings,  as  a  tablet 
upon  which  they  are  written,  which  makes  them  objects  of  memory  in 
a  thousand  instances,  when  thev  would  otherwise  be  forgotten." 


NOTES.  395 

When  the  volume  containing  "  Michael  "  was  published,  in  the  early 
days  of  January,  1801,  Wordsworth  was  troubled  to  find  that  the  printer 
had  omitted  fifteen  lines  following  1.  191.  He  tells  Poole  in  April  that 
half  a  sheet  had  been  reprinted  to  amend  the  error ;  a  copy  which  gives 
the  lines  is  in  the  possession  of  the  Rev.  T.  Hutchinson. 

In  Professor  Knight's  "  Life  of  Wordsworth,"  vol.  I,  pp.  382-388, 
and  also  in  my  edition  of  his  poetical  works  (Aldine  Series,  vol.  V,  pp. 
182-187),  will  be  found  fragments  intended  for  "  Michael,"  recovered 
from  a  MS.  book  of  Dorothy  Wordsworth's.  The  greater  portion  of 
these  fragments  are  occupied  with  an  episode,  judiciously  omitted,  which 
tells  of  the  search  made  in  late  autumn  by  Michael  and  his  son  for  a 
stray  sheep.  The  boy  discovers  it  on  an  island  of  the  brook  to  which 
he  leaps,  but  the  sheep  springs  into  the  stream.  Luke  is  found  by 
Michael  on  the  island,  and  with  the  aid  of  his  father's  staff  Luke  re- 
gains the  bank. 

One  passage  of  these  fragments  is  of  peculiar  interest,  as  giving 
Wordsworth's  answer  to  the  question,  "  What  feeling  for  external  nature 
has  such  a  man  as  Michael  ?  "  It  corresponds  to  the  passage  of  the 
poem,  11.  62-77  : 

No  doubt  if  you  in  terms  direct  had  asked 
Whether  he  loved  the  mountains,  true  it  is 
That  with  blunt  repetition  of  your  words 
He  might  have  stared  at  you,  and  said  that  they 
Were  frightful  to  behold,  but  had  you  then 

Discoursed  with  him 

Of  his  own  business,  and  the  goings  on 
Of  earth  and  sky,  then  truly  had  you  seen 
That  in  his  thoughts  there  were  obscurities. 
Wonder,  and  admiration,  things  that  wrought 
Not  less  than  a  religion  of  his  heart. 

And  the  passage  proceeds  for  fifteen  lines  more  in  the  same  spirit.  In 
ed.  1805  Wordsworth  omitted  the  following  lines,  which  in  edd.  1800 
and  1S02  followed  1.  128  : 

Not  with  a  waste  of  words,  but  for  the  sake 
Of  pleasure,  which  I  know  that  I  shall  give 
To  many  living  now,  I  of  this  Lamp 
Speak  thus  minutely :  for  there  are  no  few 
Whose  memories  will  bear  witness  to  my  tale. 
The  Light  was  famous,  etc. 

A  recast  of  these  lines  was  sent  to  Poole  in  April,  180 1,  and  it  was  then 
intended  that  they  should  immediately  succeed  the  following  passage, 


^gG  xXOTES. 

in  which,  it  will  be  observed,  some  words  appear  identical  with  those 
which  have  just  been  given  from  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  M.S.  book  ; 
this  passage,  slightly  varied,  also  appears  in  the  M.S.  book  with  the 
added  lines  which  I  place  in  brackets  : 

Though  in  these  occupations  they  would  pass 

Whole  hours  with  but  small  interchange  of  speech. 

Yet  were  there  times  in  which  they  did  not  want 

Discourse  both  wise  and  prudent,  shrewd  remarks 

Of  daily  providence,  clothed  in  images 

Lively  and  beautiful,  in  rural  forms 

That  made  their  conversation  fresh  and  fair 

As  is  a  landscape  :  —  And  the  shepherd  oft 

Would  draw  out  of  his  heart,  the  obscurities 

And  admirations  that  were  there,  of  God 

And  of  his  works,  or,  yielding  to  the  bent 

Of  his  peculiar  humour,  would  let  loose 

The  tongue  and  give  it  the  wind's  freedom.  —  then 

Discoursing  on  remote  imaginations,  strong 

Conceits,  devices,  day-dreams,  thoughts  and  schemes, 

[Of  alterations  human  hands  might  make 

.■\mong  the  mountains,  fens  which  might  be  drained. 

Mines  opened,  forests  planted,  and  rocks  split,] 

The  fancies  of  a  solitary  man. 

The  version  of  these  lines  sent  to  Poole  is  later  than  that  in  the  MS. 
book,  where  in  place  of  the  word  "  obscurities,"  transferred  to  Poole's 
version  from  another  e.xperimental  passage  quoted  above,  the  word 
"  mysteries"  is  found.  These  lines  sent  to  Poole  were  to  follow  1.  128 
of  the  poem  ("  Murmur  as  with  the  sound  of  summer  flies  "). 

A  bold  passage  of  the  poem  as  originally  printed,  1800,  was  altered 
in  1802.      Lines  405-410  stood  thus  : 

When  thou  art  gone  away,  should  evil  men 
Be  thy  companions,  let  this  Sheep-fold  be 
Thy  anchor  and  thy  shield  ;  amid  all  fear 
And  all  temptation,  let  it  be  to  thee 
.An  emblem  of  the  life  thy  Fathers  liv'd. 

Probably  Wordsworth  thought  that  to  name  the  sheepfold  an  anchor 
and  a  shield  was  overbold,  or  was  inappropriate  in  a  shepherd's  life. 

2.  GhylL  Wordsworth  e.xplains  the  -word  —  of  Scandinavian 
origin  —  in  a  note  of  iSoo  on  "The  Idle  Shepherd  Boys"  as  "in  the 
dialect  of  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland,  a  short  and,  for  the  most 
part,  a  steep  narrow  valley  with  a  stream  running  through  it." 


NOTES. 


ZOl 


6.     Around  in  1827  replaced  the  earlier  "  beside." 

51.  Subterraneous  music.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand  this 
aright.  Does  it  mean  the  sound  of  the  wind  under  overhanging  cliffs 
and  in  hollows  of  the  hills .'' 

73,  74.     Before  1832  as  follows  : 

So  grateful  in  themselves,  the  certainty 

Of  honourable  gain  ["  gains,"  1S00-2]  ;  these  fields,  these  hills. 

Which  were  his  living  Being,  even  more 

Than  his  own  blood  —  what  could  they  less .'  —  had  laid 

The  narration  which  follows  shows  that  the  fields  and  hills  were  not 
more  a  part  of  Michael's  being  than  was  his  son. 
78,  79.     Before  181 5  as  follows  : 

He  had  not  passed  his  days  in  singleness. 
He  had  a  \\ife,  a  comely  Matron,  old  — 

Altered,  probably,  to  avoid  the  recurring  "  he  had  "  in  two  different  uses, 
at  the  beginning  of  two  successive  lines. 

112.  Before  1S36  :  "  Did  with  a  huge  projection  overbrow  "  ;  altered 
to  avoid  the  enfeebling  expletive  "  did." 

125.  Far  in  1S36  replaced  '"late,"  going  better  with  the  preposition 
"  into." 

134.  Easedale,  near  Grasmere.  Dunmail-Raise,  the  pass  on  the 
way  from  tirasmere  to  Keswick. 

147.     This  line  was  added  in  1836. 

150.     After  this  line  the  following  lines  were  omitted  in  1827  : 

From  such,  and  other  causes,  to  the  thoughts 
Of  the  old  Man,  his  only  Son  was  now 
The  dearest  object  that  he  knew  on  earth. 

155.     Pastime  in  1827  replaced  the  less  masculine  "dalliance." 
158.     A  possible  objection  was  anticipated  by  the  insertion  in  1836 
of  "as." 

163-166  replaced  in  1836  the  following  : 

Had  work  by  his  own  door,  or  when  he  sate 
With  sheep  before  him  on  his  Shepherd's  stool 
Beneath  that  large  old  Oak,  which  near  their  door 
.Stood,  and  from  its  enormous  breadth  of  shade, 

207.  In  1800:  "While  this  good  household  thus  were  living  on." 
In  1802  and  1805  ' 

\\'hile  in  the  fashion  which  I  have  described 
This  simple  Household  thus  were  living  on. 


398 


NOTES. 


221-223.      tiefore  1S36: 

As  soon  as  he  had  gathered  so  much  strength, 
That  he  could  look  his  trouble  in  the  face, 
It  seemed  that  his  sole  refuge  was  to  sell 

Altered,  perhaps,  to  vary  the  position  of  the  pauses. 

233.  The  sun  himself  in  1827  replaced  "  the  Sun  itself."  A  like 
change  was  often  made  as  Wordsworth  came  to  perceive  the  uses  of 
poetic  personification. 

258.  Richard  Bateman.  In  edd.  1802-5  Wordsworth  gives  a 
note  :  "  The  story  alluded  to  is  well  known  in  the  country.  The  chapel 
is  called  Ings  Chapel;  and  it  is  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road  lead- 
ing from  Kendal  to  Ambleside."  The  date  when  Bateman  rebuilt  the 
chapel  was  1743. 

290.     Last  two  nights  :  corrected  in   1836;  previously,  "  two  last." 

299.  Youth  in  1S15  replaced  "lad."  .See  note  on  "The  Brothers," 
1.  320. 

304.  With  daylight  in  1820  replaced  the  less  expressive  "Next 
morning  "  of  earlier  texts. 

324.  Sheepfold.  In  edd.  1800-5  Wordsworth  gives  a  note: 
"  It  may  be  proper  to  inform  some  readers  that  a  sheepfold  in  these 
mountains  is  an  unroofed  building  of  stone  walls,  with  different  divi- 
sions. It  is  generally  placed  by  a  brook,  for  the  convenience  of  washing 
the  sheep ;  but  it  is  also  useful  as  a  .shelter  for  them,  and  as  a  place  to 
drive  them  into,  to  enable  the  shepherds  conveniently  to  single  out  one 
or  more  for  any  particular  purpose." 

338,  339-     Touch  on  replaced  in  1836  "speak  of." 

340.  As  oft  befalls  replaced  in  1827  "  as  it  befalls,"  which  was  hardly 
true  to  fact. 

373.     Threescore  replaced  in  1827  "sixty." 

390.  Hale  replaced  in  1827  "stout,"  the  meaning  of  which  was 
ambiguous. 

424,425.  An  improvement  of  1815;  previously,  one  line:  "Next 
morning,  as  had  been  resolv'd,  the  Boy." 

450.  Before  1820  this  line  was  "Would  break  the  heart:  —  Old 
Michael  found  it  so." 

456.  From  1800  to  1827  the  line  closed  with  "  up  upon  the  sun"; 
in  1832  the  fault  was  emended  by  the  reading  "  up  towards  the  sun." 
But  when  making  the  revision  for  1836,  Wordsworth  decided  uniformly 
to  treat  "towards"  as  a  monosyllable,  and  accordingly  he  substituted 
the  present  reading. 


AOTES. 


399 


Several  clianges  of  text  of  a  less  interesting  kind  are  here  unrecorded. 
Of  this  poem  Sir  Henry  Taylor  says  :  "  The  poet  writes  in  his  confi 
dence  to  impart  interest  to  the  realities  of  life,  deriving  both  the  con- 
fidence and  the  power  from  the  deep  interest  which  he  feels  in  them. 
It  is  an  attribute  of  unusual  susceptibility  of  imagination  to  need  no 
extraordinary  provocatives ;  and  when  this  is  combined  with  intensity 
of  observation  and  peculiarity  of  language,  it  is  the  high  privilege  of  the 
poet  so  endowed  to  rest  upon  the  common  realities  of  life  and  to  dis- 
pense with  its  anomalies." 


FRAGMENT    FROM    THE    RECLUSE. 


"  The  Recluse  "  was  the  general  title  given  to  a  great  philosophical 
poem  designed  by  Wordsworth,  which  was  never  completed.  Its 
principal  subject  was  to  be  the  sensations  and  opinions  of  a  Poet  living 
in  retirement,  and  it  was  to  express  his  views  of  Man,  Nature,  and 
Society.  The  autobiographical  poem,  "  The  Prelude,"  published  after 
Wordsworth's  death,  was  intended  to  be  preparatory  to  the  whole  ; 
"The  Excursion"  formed  its  second  part.  The  third  part,  to  consist, 
like  the  first,  chiefly  of  meditations  in  the  Author's  own  person,  was 
never  written.  The  date  at  which  the  first  book  of  "The  Recluse" 
was  written  is  uncertain  ;  perhaps  it  was  written  as  early  as  iSoo.  Pro- 
fessor Knight  dates  it  1805,  which  may  be  right.  An  extract  or  an 
addition  was  published  by  Wordsworth  with  the  title  "  Water-Fowl," 
and  is  dated  by  him  1S12. 

The  extract  here  given  forms  the  conclusion  of  Book  I.  It  was 
printed  in  18 14,  in  the  Preface  to  ''  The  Excursion,"  and  Wordsworth 
says  "  it  may  be  acceptable  as  a  kind  of  Prospectus  of  the  design  and 
scope  of  the  whole  Poem."  In  fact  it  may  be  called  a  prospectus  of 
all  his  work  as  a  poet.  The  first  book  of  ''  The  Recluse "  was  pub- 
lished in  iSSS.  The  text  of  the  extract  is  identical  in  the  volume  of 
1888  with  that  printed  in  1814. 

13.  Numerous  verse,  verse  consisting  of  poetical  numbers ;  the 
expression  occurs  in  ''  Paradise  Lost,"  V,  1 50,  and  in  P.  Fletcher's  "  Pi.s- 
catory  Eclogues,"  1633. 

23.  Fit  audience,  etc.:  from  "Paradise  Lost,"  VII,  37,  where 
Milton  invokes  the  muse  Urania;  see  1.  25. 

48.  Plato's  Atlantis  was  an  imaginary  island  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
Homer  made  the  .Xtlanticas  two,  ^the  Hesperidesand  the  F.lvsian  Fields. 


400  NO  TES. 

86.  Metropolitan,  of  the  mother  city.  I'he  word  has  special  ecclesi- 
astical associations,  Metropolitan  {noun)  meaning  bishop  of  a  mother 
church. 

THE    SPARROW'S    NEST. 

Written  in  the  orchard,  Town-end,  Grasmere,  and  dated  by  Words- 
worth 1801  ;  first  published  in  1807.  "  At  the  end  of  the  garden,"  says 
Wordsworth  {Fenwick  }iote  on  this  poem),  "  of  my  father's  house  at 
Cockermouth  was  a  high  terrace  that  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the 
river  Derwent  and  Cockermouth  Castle.  This  was  our  favourite  play- 
ground. The  terrace-wall,  a  low  one,  was  covered  with  closely  dipt 
privet  and  roses,  which  gave  an  almost  impervious  shelter  to  birds  that 
built  their  nests  there." 

In  1807  (only)  the  following  lines  opened  the  poem  : 

Look,  five  blue  eggs  are  gleaming  there ! 
Few  visions  have  I  seen  more  fair. 
Nor  many  prospects  of  delight 
More  pleasing  than  that  simple  sight ! 

which  had   an  unpleasant  air  of  self-consciousness,  and  were  happily 
omitted. 

Until  1845  11-  '''  '-  stood  thus: 

She  look'd  at  it  as  if  she  fear'd  it ; 
Still  wishing,  dreading  to  be  near  it, 

with  a  faulty  rhyme. 

In  "  The  Prelude,"  XI,  335-370,  Wordsworth  tells  how  at  a  later 
time  his  sister  led  him  back,  after  the  downfall  of  his  hopes  for  France, 
to  "sweet  counsels  between  head  and  heart,"  and  preserved  him  still  a 
Poet.  On  the  name  "  Emmeline,"  see  note  on  ''To  a  Butterfly."  In 
the  original  manuscript  "  Dorothy  "  is  written. 

TO    A    YOUNG    LADY    ("Dear    Child,"  etc.). 

This  poem  —  which  may  have  been  written  in  1801 — originally 
appeared  in  The  Morning  Post  for  Feb.  11,  1802,  with  the  title  "To  a 
beautiful  Young  Lady  who  had  been  harshly  spoken  of  on  account  of 
her  fondness  for  taking  long  walks  in  the  country."  It  was  included 
among  the  "  Poems,"  1807.  Wordsworth  afterwards  dated  it  1803,  and 
said  in  the  Fenwick  note  that  it  was  "  composed  at  the  same  time  and 
on  the  same  view  as  '  I  met  Louisa  in  the  shade ' ;  indeed  they  were 


NOTES.  401 

designed  to  make  one  piece."  "  Louisa  "  lie  dated  1805.  Evidently 
his  memory  deceived  him.  There  is  a  MS.  copy  written  out  for  the 
"  Lyrical  Ballads  "  of  1802.  Professor  Knight  and  I  supposed  that  the 
young  lady  was  idealised  from  Wordsworth's  sister  Dorothy.  Mr. 
T.  Hutchinson  conjectures  that  Joanna,  Wordsworth's  sister-in-law, 
was  meant.  Mr.  Ernest  H.  Coleridge  {The  AthentEum,  Sept.  16,  1893) 
argues  that  Mary  Hutchinson,  whom  Wordsworth  married  on  Oct.  4, 
1802,  was  meant.  She  was  at  Dove  Cottage,  Grasmere  (Wordsworth's 
home),  in  the  late  autumn  of  1801,  and  on  December  28  she  accom- 
panied the  Wordsworths  on  foot  to  Keswick.  A  second  visit  to  Gras- 
mere was  paid  in  January,  1802.  "  The  poem  '  Louisa,'"  says  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge, "is  evidently  addressed  by  a  lover  to  his  betrothed,"  and  here 
the  young  lady  is  promised  heart-stirring  days  as  a  wife  (to  Wordsworth) 
and  friend  (to  Dorothy).  The  reproaches,  Mr.  Coleridge  supposes, 
may  have  come  from  Mrs.  Coleridge,  then  at  Greta  Hall,  to  which 
Mary  Hutchinson  walked  from  Grasmere ;  Mrs.  Coleridge  "  did  not 
appreciate  long  walks."  Dorothy  Wordsworth  was,  however,  a  noted 
pedestrian,  and  was  reproached  for  her  long  walks.  "  The  Glowworm  " 
of  Wordsworth,  in  which  Lucy  is  spoken  of  as  "  my  Love,"  was  sug- 
gested, in  fact,  by  an  incident  in  which  his  sister  was  Lucy's  original. 
In  "Yarrow  Unvisited"  Wordsworth's  sister  is,  for  poetical  purposes, 
transformed  to  his  "  true  love  "  and  "  winsome  Marrow."  Miss  Quillinau 
stated  that  the  lines  were  addressed  to  Dorothy,  and  I  still  believe  this 
to  be  the  truth.     The  poem  should  be  read  with  "  Louisa." 

In  1.  5  '"heart-stirring"  replaced  in  1837  the  earlier  "delightful"; 
altered,  probably,  to  avoid  the  clash  of  "'  delightful  "  with  "  light  "  in  the 
next  line. 

Lines  8,  9  previous  to  1827  were  : 

As  if  thy  heritage  were  jo)% 
And  pleasure  were  thy  trade. 

In  1.  16  "serene"  in  181 5  replaced  the  earlier  "alive." 


ALICE    FELL. 

Written  Mar.  12  and  13,  1802;  published  1807.  The  incident 
happened  to  Mr.  Graham  of  Glasgow  (brother  of  the  author  of  "  The 
Sabbath  ")  who  urged  Wordsworth,  for  humanity's  sake,  to  put  it  into 
verse.  In  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  of  Feb.  16,  1S02,  she  records 
the  incident  as  told  on  that  day  by  Graham ;  the  poem  closely  agrees 
with  the  entry  in  the   Journal.      On  its  appearance  the  critics  ridiculed 


40  2  xVOTES. 

the  poem,  and  out  of  policy  \Vordsworth  for  a  time  excluded  it  from 
his  "  Poetical  Works  "  ;  it  was  restored  at  the  request  of  friends,  in 
particular  of  Edward  Quillinan,  the  poet's  son-in-law. 

The  text  was  retouched  in  many  lines  in  1836,  and  assumed  its  final 
form  in  1845. 

3,  4.     Before  1S45  '■^^^  • 

When  suddenly  1  seem'd  to  hear 
A  moan,  a  lamentable  sound. 

Altered  to  render  the  sound,  as  first  heard,  more  vague,  and  to  avoid 
the  repeated  "  seemed  "  in  1.  3  and  1.  7. 

21.  In  1807  :  "'My  cloak!'  the  word  was  last  and  first,"  rhyming 
with  1.  23,  "  As  if  her  very  heart  would  burst  "  ("  burst  "  being  also  the 
word  used  in  Dorothy's  Journal).  When  in  1836  1.  21  became  "'My 
cloak! '  no  other  word  she  spoke,"  1.  23  did  not  rhyme,  "  As  if  her  inno- 
cent heart  would  burst."  There  was  an  objection  to  rhyming  with 
"  spoke,"  the  word  "  spoke"  in  another  sense  rhyming  in  the  next 
stanza  but  one.     The  present  text  is  of  1840. 

29-31.     In  1807  : 

'T  was  twisted  between  nave  and  spoke ; 
Her  help  she  lent,  and  with  good  heed 
Together  we  released  the  Cloak; 
A  wretched,  wretched  rag  indeed  ! 

Other  variations  of  text,  less  important,  remain  unnoticed.  The  poem 
may  be  contrasted  with  "  Lucy  Gray,"  the  one  being  literal  and  realistic, 
while  "  Lucy  Gray  "  is  an  ideal  treatment  of  the  actual  incident. 


BEGGARS. 

Written  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  on  Mar.  13  and  14,  1S02;  pub- 
lished in  1807.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in  her  Journal  of  March 
13  :  "  William  finished  '  Alice  Fell'  [like  this,  a  poem  of  poverty]  and 
then  wrote  the  poem  of  '  The  Beggar  Woman,'  taken  from  a  woman 
whom  I  had  seen  in  May  (now  nearly  two  years  ago),  when  John  and 
he  were  at  Gallow  Hill  [with  the  Hutchinson's].  .  .  .  After  tea  I  read 
to  William  [from  the  Journal]  that  account  of  the  little  boy  belonging 
to  the  tall  woman,  and  an  unlucky  thing  it  was,  for  he  could  not  escape 
from  those  very  words,  and  so  he  could  not  write  the  poem.  He  left 
it  unfinished,  and  went  tired  to  bed.     In  our  walk  from  Rydal  he  had 


NOTES.  403 

got  warmed  with  the  subject,  and  had  half  cast  the  poem.  SitnJay 
Mor7iing.  William  .  .  .  got  up  at  nine  o'clock,  but  before  he  rose  he 
had  finished  '  The  Beggar  Boy.'  " 

In  this  poem  we  have  an  excellent  opportunity  of  studying  both 
Wordsworth's  dealing  with  his  material  and  the  manner  in  which  he 
criticised  and  rehandled  his  own  work.  He  had  not  himself  seen  the 
beggars  ;  the  following  is  his  sister's  account  of  the  incident :  "  ISIay  sy 
[1800].  A  very  tall  woman,  tall  much  beyond  the  measure  of  tall 
women,  called  at  the  door.  She  had  on  a  very  long  brown  cloak,  and 
a  very  white  cap  without  bonnet.  Her  face  was  excessively  brown,  but 
it  had  plainly  once  been  fair.  She  led  a  little  barefooted  child,  about 
two  years  old,  by  the  hand,  and  said  her  husband,  who  was  a  tinker, 
was  gone  before  with  the  other  children.  I  gave  her  a  piece  of  bread. 
Afterwards,  on  my  way  to  Ambleside,  beside  the  bridge  at  Rydal,  I  saw 
her  husband  sitting  at  the  roadside,  his  two  asses  standing  beside  him, 
and  the  two  young  children  at  play  upon  the  grass.  The  man  did  not 
beg.  I  passed  on,  and  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther,  I  saw  two 
boys,  one  about  ten,  the  other  about  eight  years  old,  at  play  chasing  a 
butterfly.  They  were  wild  figures,  not  very  ragged,  but  without  shoes 
or  stockings.  The  hat  of  the  elder  was  wreathed  round  with  yellow 
flowers ;  the  younger,  whose  hat  was  only  a  rimless  crown,  had  stuck  it 
round  with  laurel  leaves.  They  continued  at  play  till  I  drew  very  near, 
and  then  they  addressed  me  with  the  begging  cant  and  the  whining 
voice  of  sorrow.  I  said,  '  I  served  your  mother  this  morning '  (the  boys 
were  so  like  the  woman  who  had  called  at  our  door  that  I  could  not  be 
mistaken).  '  O  ! '  says  the  elder,  '  you  could  not  serve  my  mother,  for 
she 's  dead,  and  my  father 's  on  at  the  next  town  —  he 's  a  potter.'  I 
persisted  in  my  assertion,  and  that  I  would  give  them  nothing.  Says 
the  elder,  '  Come,  let 's  away,'  and  away  they  flew  like  lightning." 

Wordsworth  omits  the  husband,  the  asses,  the  child  of  two,  and  con- 
centrates attention  on  the  woman  and  the  boys. 

The  poem  was  little  touched  (but  see  note  on  11.  29,  30)  until  1827. 
In  a  letter  to  Barron  Field  the  motive  of  rehandling  is  stated  by  Words- 
worth :  "  I  have  aimed  at  giving  more  eloquence  and  dignity  to  this 
poem,  partly  on  its  own  account,  and  partly  that  it  might  harmonise 
better  with  the  one  appended  to  it." 

The  present  text  of  stanza  i  is  of  1845.     ^^  '^°7  • 

She  had  a  tall  Man's  height,  or  more  ; 
No  bonnet  screen'd  her  from  the  heat : 
A  long  drab-colour'd  Cloak  she  wore, 
A  Mantle  reaching  to  her  feet  ; 


404 


A'O  TES. 


What  otlier  dress  she  had  ]  could  not  know ; 
Only  she  wore  a  Cap  that  was  as  white  as  snow. 

The  fifth  of  these  Imes  is  called  by  Wordsworth,  in  his  letter  to  iJarron 
Field,  "a  villainous  line,  one  of  the  very  worst  in  my  whole  writings." 
In  1827  the  stanza  stood  thus  : 

Before  me  as  the  Wanderer  stood, 

No  bonnet  screened  her  from  the  heat ; 

Nor  claimed  she  service  from  the  hood 

Of  a  blue  mantle,  to  her  feet 

Depending  with  a  graceful  flow ; 

Only  she  wore  a  cap  pure  as  unsullied  snow. 

"  Nor  claimed  she  service,"  etc.,  Wordsworth  thought  "  too  pompous 
for  the  occasion."     In  1832  : 

Before  my  eyes  a  Wanderer  stood  ; 

Her  face  from  summer's  noon-day  heat 

Nor  ["  No,"  1836-43]  bonnet  shaded,  nor  the  hood 

Of  that  ["the,"  1S36-43]  blue  cloak  which  to  her  feet 

Depended  with  a  graceful  flow  ; 

Only  she  wore  a  cap  as  white  as  new-fallen  snow. 

Happily,  Wordsworth  reverted  to  the  first  line  as  originally  written. 

7-12.  This  stanza  was  reached  in  1827  (except  1.  11,  where  "head" 
instead  of  "lead  "  stood  until  1836  ;  excluding  "head  "  from  1.  11  made 
possible  the  insertion  in   1845  ^^  "head"  in  1.  6).     Lines  7-10  before 

1827  were  : 

In  all  my  walks  through  field  or-town, 
.Such  Figure  had  I  never  seen  : 
Her  face  was  of  Egyptian  brown  : 
Fit  person  was  she  for  a  Queen. 

"  In  all  my  walks  "  Wordsworth  thought  "  obtrusively  personal." 
The  third  stanza  is  of  1845.     I'''  '^^^1  '■ 

Before  me  begging  did  she  stand, 
Pouring  out  sorrows  like  a  sea : 
Grief  after  grief  :  —  on  English  land 
Such  woes  I  knew  could  never  be  ; 

'  .Sea,"  Wordsworth  says,  "  clashes  with  '  was  Ijeautiful  to  see '"in  1.  18. 
In  1827  the  lines  became  : 

Her  suit  no  faltering  scruples  checked ; 
Forth  did  she  pour,  in  current  free. 
Tales  that  could  challenge  no  respect 
But  from  a  blind  credulity  : 


A'O  TES.  405 

In  1832-43  : 

She  begged  an  alms;  no  scruple  checked 
The  current  of  her  ready  plea. 
Words  that  could  challenge,  etc. 

18.  A  weed  of  glorious  feature  is  from  Spenser's  "  Muiopotmos,  or 
the  Fate  of  the  lUitterfly,"  1.  213,  and  was  in  quotation  marks  before 
1827. 

29-30.      A  change  of  1820  ;  previously  : 

Two  Brothers  seem'd  they,  eight  and  ten  years  old ; 
And  like  that  Woman's  face  as  gold  is  like  to  gold. 

31-36.  This  stanza  was  added  in  1827  with  "Precursors  of  ['to,' 
1836]  "  in  its  fourth  line. 

37.     Before  1827  :  "  They  bolted  on  me  thus,  and  lo  !  " 

42.  Before  1827  :  "'Nay  but  I  gave  her  pence,  and  she  will  buy 
you  bread.' " 

44.  The  text  is  of  1845.  ^'^  1807-20,  and  again  1836-43  :  "'  .Sweet 
Boys,  you're  telling  me  a  lie'";  in  1827-32:  "'Sweet  Boys!  Heaven 
hears  that  rash  reply,' "  which  Wordsworth  thought  "  somewhat  too  re- 
fined." 

48.     Before  1827  :  "  Off  to  some  other  play  they  both  together  flew." 

Various  experiments  at  improvement  of  the  poem  are  given  from 
MS.  by  Professor  Knight. 

Part  of  the  virtue  of  this  poem  resides  in  a  series  of  beautiful  sur- 
prises. The  title  "  Beggars  "  hardly  prepares  us  for  the  dignity  of  an 
Amazonian  queen  and  the  joy  and  beauty  of  the  "  precursors  of  Aurora's 
car  "  ;  their  trade  of  misery  is  only  a  profitable  assumption  masking  a 
life  of  gladness  and  freedom,  and  the  lie  of  the  conscienceless  creatures 
is  so  superficial —  not  one  of  those  lies  which  Bacon  describes  as  "  sink- 
ing and  settling  in  the  mind  " —  that  we  are  almost  relieved,  and  glad  to 
be  relieved,  from  the  duty  of  moral  condemnation.  It  seems  only  a 
gaiety  and  piece  of  their  "  ready  wit."  The  interpretation  of  the  whole 
is  given  in  the  "  Sequel "  which  follows. 

SEQUEL    TO   THE    E(JKEGOL\(;    {i.e..  Beggars). 

Written  in  1817  ;  published  in  1827. 

2.     Dsedal,  curiously  adorned. 

13,  14.  Between  these  two  lines  occurred  the  following  before  1836  ; 
in  that  year  four  of  the  lines  were  transferred  to  a  later  part  of  the 
poem  (11.  32-35),  in  an  invocation  of  Spirits  : 


4o6  xVOTES. 

Spirits  of  teauty  and  of  grace : 
Associates  in  that  eager  chase ; 
Ve,  by  a  course  to  nature  true, 
The  sterner  judgment  can  subdue  ; 
And  waken  a  relenting  smile 
\\'hen  she  encounters  fraud  or  guile  ; 
And  sometimes  ye  can  charm  away 
The  inward  mischief,  or  allay, 
Ve,  who  within  the  blameless  mind, 
Vour  favourite  seat  of  empire  find  ! 

27,  28.      Before  1836  : 

.     .    .     .     is  still  endeared 
The  faith 

and  at  the  same  time  1.  31  replaced  "  Or,  if  such  thoughts,"  etc. 


TO    A    BUTTERFLY    ("  Stay  near  me  "). 

Written  in  the  orchard.  Town-end,  Grasmere,  on  Mar.  14,  1802 ;  first 
published  in  1807.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in  her  Journal :  "  While 
we  were  at  breakfast  ...  he  wrote  the  poem  '  To  a  Butterfly.'  .  .  . 
The  thought  first  came  upon  him  as  we  were  talking  about  the  pleasure 
we  both  always  felt  at  the  sight  of  a  butterfly.  I  told  him  that  I  used 
to  chase  them  a  little,  but  'that  I  was  afraid  of  brushing  the  dust  off 
their  wings,  and  did  not  catch  them.  He  told  me  how  he  used  to 
kill  all  the  white  ones  when  he  went  to  school,  because  they  were 
Frenchmen."  The  text  is  unaltered.  In  "  The  Sparrow's  Nest " 
Wordsworth  again  names  his  sister  "  Emmeline,"  and  in  the  sonnet 
"  There  is  a  little  unpretending  rill  "  and  the  first  poem  "  On  the  Nam- 
ing of  Places  "  C  It  was  an  April  morning"),  "  Emma." 


TO   THE   CUCKOO    ("  O  blithe  New-comer  !  "). 

This  poem,  written  on  Mar.  23-26,  1802,  in  the  orchard,  Town-end, 
Grasmere,  was  first  published  in  1S07.  In  Dorothy  Wordsworth's 
Journal  for  1802,  which  gives  us  the  date  of  the  poem,  occur  several 
references  to  the  cuckoo.  On  May  i  :  "  William  tired  himself  with 
seeking  an  epithet  for  the  cuckoo  "  ;  on  June  3  :  "  The  cuckoo  sang  in 
Easedale  ;  after  dinner  we  read  the  life  and  some  of  the  writings  of 
poor  Logan."  The  well-known  poem,  "  To  the  Cuckoo,"  containing 
the  stanza 


NOTES.  407 

Sweet  bird  1  thy  bower  is  ever  green, 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  song, 

No  winter  in  thy  year, 

is  claimed  for  Michael  Bruce  as  well  as  for  John  Logan. 

Wordsworth,  in  several  poems,  has  written  of  the  cuckoo.  A  sonnet, 
"  To  the  Cuckoo,"  tells  of  the  joy  on  hearmg  this  first  spring  summons, 
the  "  erratic  voice,"  and  ''  twin  notes  inseparably  paired."  In  "  The 
Excursion,"  Bk.  vii,  1.  408,  one  of  the  chief  losses  sustained  by  the 
dalesman  born  deaf  is  that  "  not  for  his  delight  The  vernal  cuckoo 
shouted."     Again  in  "The  Excursion,"  Bk.  ii,  11.  346-348,  we  find  : 

.     .     .     only  from  the  neighbouring  vales 
The  cuckoo,  straggling  up  to  the  hill-tops 
.Shouteth  faint  tidings  of  some  gladder  place. 

The  same  word  "shout  "  occurs  in  "  Ves,  it  was  the  mountain  Echo," 
the  echo  "  answering  to  the  shouting  cuckoo."  In  one  of  the  sonnets 
to  Sleep,  the  early  morning  cry  of  the  bird,  heard  after  a  sleepless  night, 
is  "  the  first  cuckoo's  melancholy  cry."  A  poem  on  "The  Cuckoo- 
clock  "  tells  of  the  joyous  associations  connected  with  the  bird's  voice 
(the  cuckoo-clock  at  Rydal  Mount  was  shouting  twelve,  at  noon,  on 
Apr.  23,  1850,  when  Wordsworth  died).  In  "Memorials  of  a  Tour  in 
Italy,  1837,"  is  a  blank-verse  poem,  "The  Cuckoo  at  Laverna,"  in 
which  Wordsworth  imagines  the  Franciscan  monks  reminded  by  the 
bird's  voice  of  ''  the  Voice  of  One  crying  amid  the  wilderness,"  ^\ith  a 
prophecy  of  a  spiritual  springtime.  He  modernised  the  poem,  inaccu- 
rately ascribed  to  Chaucer,  "The  Cuckoo  and  the  Nightingale." 

In  his  "Guide  to  the  Lakes"  he  writes,  much  in  the  spirit  of  the 
present  poem  :  "  There  is  also  an  imaginative  influence  in  the  voice  of 
the  cuckoo,  when  that  voice  has  taken  possession  of  a  deep  mountain 
valley." 

The  second  stanza,  which  appears  as  simple  as  a  drop  of  dew,  was 
the  result  of  many  revisions,  and  was  reached  after  more  than  forty 
years  from  the  original  date  of  composition.     In  1802  it  was  as  follows  : 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass, 
I  hear  thy  restless  shout : 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass. 
About,  and  all  about. 

The  last  line  was  greatly  improved  in  181 5  by  the  change  to  "  At  once 
far  off  and  near,"  and  the  rhyming  word  "  shout  "  in  1.  2  was  sacrificed, 


4o8  NOTES. 

that  line  becoming  "  Tliy  loud  note  smites  my  ear  !  "  In  1820  Words- 
worth attacked  the  third  line,  which  became  "  It  seems  to  fill  the  whole 
air's  space."  One  day  he  noticed  that  the  voice  of  a  cuckoo,  heard 
from  a  tree  at  a  great  distance,  did  not  seem  any  louder  when  he 
approached  the  tree,  and  he  resolved  to  record  this  fact.  He  also  de- 
sired to  recover  the  word  "shout,"  and  to  distinguish  it  as  the  cuckoo's 
by  the  epithet  "twofold."     Accordingly,  in  1S27,  the  stanza  became  : 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass, 

Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear, 

That  seems  to  fill  the  whole  air's  space, 

As  loud  far  off  as  near. 

Finally  in  1845  ^^  reverted  to  the  original  third  line  of  1807,  "  From 
hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass,"  and  to  the  181 5  form  of  1.  4,  "  At  once  far 
off  and  near." 

The  third  stanza,  which  in  its  present  form  dates  from  1827,  was  in 

1807  : 

To  me  no  Babbler  with  a  tale 
Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers, 
Thou  tellest,  Cuckoo !  in  the  Vale 
Of  visionary  hours. 

The  rhyming  words  of  the  first  and  third  lines  were  transposed  in  18 15, 
and  the  idea  brought  out  more  clearly: 

I  hear  thee  babbling  to  the  Vale 

Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers  ; 

And  ["  But,"  1820]  unto  me  thou  bring'st  a  tale 

Of  visionary  hours. 

The  present  text  makes  the  contrast  still  more  clear. 

15.  "  No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing."  So  in  "  The  Cuckoo  at 
Laverna,"  "  Although  invisible  as  Echo's  self." 

31,32: 

An  unsubstantial  fairy  place  ; 

That  is  fit  home  for  Thee ! 
So  in  "The  Cuckoo  at  Laverna  ": 

Voice  of  the  Desert,  fare-thee-well ;  sweet  Bird  ! 
If  that  substantial  title  please  thee  more. 

In  the  Preface  to  the  ed.  of  1815  Wordsworth  comments  on 
11.  3,  4  of  this  poem  :  "  This  concise  interrogation  characterises 
the  seeming   ubiquity  of   the  cuckoo,   and    dispossesses    the   creature 


NOTES.  409 

almost  of  corporeal  existence  ;  the  Imagination  being  tempted  to  this 

exertion    of   her   power   by  a  consciousness    in  the    memory  that  the 

cuckoo  is  almost  perpetually  heard  throughout  the  season  of  spring, 
but  seldom  lieconies  an  object  of  sight." 


"MY    HEART    LEAPS    UP." 

Written  on  Mar.  26,  1S02,  at  Town-end,  Grasmere ;  first  published 
in  1S07.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in  her  Journal  :  "  While  I  was 
getting  into  bed  he  wrote  'The  Rainbow'";  and  again  on  May  14, 
1802  :  "  William  very  nervous.  After  he  was  in  bed,  haunted  with 
altering  '  The  Rainbow.'  "  The  printed  text  was  never  altered.  In  the 
"Ode:  Intimations  of  Immortality  from  Recollections  of  Early  Child- 
hood," Wordsworth  tells  of  "  the  glory  and  the  freshness  of  a  dream  " 
which  arrayed  the  aspects  of  nature  for  him  in  childhood,  and  which 
faded  in  maturer  years  (the  rainbow  is  especially  mentioned) ;  and  he 
goes  on  to  show  how  his  early  feeling  for  nature  is  not  lost,  but  is 
deepened  by  human  experiences,  including  the  sorrow  of  mature  years. 
In  his  own  arrangement  of  his  Poems  "  My  heart  leaps  up"  is  placed 
first  (if  we  omit  the  "Poems  written  in  Youth"),  and  the  "Ode"  — 
having  for  its  motto  the  last  three  lines  of  this  poem  —  is  placed  last, 
kindred  thoughts  and  feelings  thus  rounding  his  entire  work.  "  The 
Cuckoo  "  was  written  on  the  same  day  as  "  My  heart  leaps  up,"  and 
expresses  the  same  thought  as  to  the  "  natural  piety  "  of  carrying  on 
the  feelings  of  childhood  into  later  life.  There  is  a  special  propriety 
in  the  word  "piety,"  in  the  I>atin  sense  of  filial  reverence,  the  child  here 
being  the  father  of  the  man,  and  the  man  feeling  such  reverence  for  his 
parent. 

WRITTEN    IN    MARCH,  etc. 

This  poem  —  a  favourite  with  Joanna  Baillie  —  was  composed  with 
speed  ("  extempore,"  says  Wordsworth)  near  Brothers'  Water,  on  Apr. 
16,  1802.  The  text  was  never  altered.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in 
her  Journal :  "  When  we  came  to  the  foot  of  Brothers'  Water  I  left 
William  sitting  on  the  bridge.  .  .  .  When  I  returned  I  found  William 
writing  a  poem  descriptive  of  the  sights  and  sounds  we  saw  and  heard. 
There  was  the  gentle  flowing  of  the  stream,  the  glittering,  lively  lake, 
green  fields,  without  a  single  creature  to  be  seen  on  them  ;  behind  us  a 
flat  pasture  with  forty-two  cattle  feeding.  .  .  .  The  people  were  at 
work  ploughing,  harrowing,  and  sowing  ;  lasses  working,  a  dog  barking 


4IO  NOTES. 

now  and  then  ;  cocks  crowing,  birds  twittering  ;  the  snow  in  patches  at 
the  top  of  the  highest  hill.  .  .  .  William  finished  his  poem  before  we 
got  to  the  foot  of  Kirkstone." 


THE    REDBREAST    CHASING   THE    BUTTERFLY. 

This  poem  was  written  in  the  orchard,  Town-end,  Grasmere.  The 
date  is  given  in  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal,  Apr.  i8,  1802  :  "  A 
mild  grey  morning  with  rising  vapours.  We  sate  in  the  orchard.  Wil- 
liam wrote  the  poem  on  "  The  Robin  and  the  Butterfly/'  .  .  .  William 
met  me  at  Rydal  with  the  conclusion  of  the  poem  to  the  Robin.  I  read 
it  to  him  in  bed.  We  left  out  some  lines."  The  poem  was  published 
in  1807. 

The  reader  should  compare  the  poem  of  1834,  "The  Redbreast 
(suggested  in  a  Westmoreland  Cottage)." 

2.  The  pious  bird.  The  pious  deed,  by  which  the  bird  dyed  its 
breast  in  taking  a  thorn  from  the  crucified  Saviour's  crown,  is  referred 
to  in  the  poem  of  1834. 

9.  The  bird  that :  one  of  Wordsworth's  latest  corrections,  in  the 
ed.  of  1S49  ;      the  bird  whom,"  1807-20  ;  "  the  bird  who,"  1827-45. 

20.  This  line  remained  in  181 5  when  one  preceding  and  one  follow- 
ing it  were  omitted  : 

His  Bttle  heart  is  throbbing  : 

Can  this  be  the  Bird,  to  man  so  good. 

Our  consecrated  Robin  ? 

35,  36.     Date  from  181  5.     In  1S07,  three  lines: 

Like  the  hues  of  thy  breast 

His  beautiful  wings  in  crimson  are  drest, 

A  brother  he  seems  of  thine  own  : 

In  1832  the  reading  in  the  text,  but  cancelled  in  errata,  is  : 

His  beautiful  bosom  is  drest, 

In  crimson  as  bright  as  thine  own. 

Wordsworth's  desire  was  to  make  the  butterfly  resemble  the  redbreast 
as  closely  as  possible,  but  on  consideration  he  thought  it  absurd  to 
speak  of  a  butterfly's  bosom,  and  so  he  retained  the  reading  of  181 5. 
Matthew  .■\rnold,  probably  by  an  oversight,  prints  the  cancelled  text  of 
1832. 


NOTES.  41  r 


TO    A    BUTTERFLY   ("  I 've  watched  you  "). 

Written  in  the  orchard,  Town-end,  Grasmere,  on  Apr.  20,  1802  ;  first 
published  in  1807.  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  gives  us  the  date  of 
the  poem,  which  she  calls  "  a  conclusion  to  the  poem  of  the  '  Butter- 
fly,'"  that  is,  to  the  poem  beginning  "Stay  near  me"  (p.  135)-  The 
stanza  of  both  poems  is  identical  in  form.  When  printed  the  poems 
appeared  separately.  Perhaps  "  The  Redbreast  chasing  the  Butterfly  " 
(Apr.  18,  1802)  recalled  the  butterfly  poem  written  on  March  14.  The 
first  line  is  now  as  it  originally  stood,  but  in  1836  Wordsworth  substi- 
tuted "a  short  half-hour,"  —  "short"  carries  the  reader  away  from  the 
butterfly  to  Wordsworth's  mood  of  mind,  and  he  happily  reverted  to 
the  earlier  text.  It  also  suggested  a  point  which  Wordsworth  did  not 
intend,  —  a  contrast  between  the  "  short "  passage  of  time  now  and 
the  "long  "  days  of  childhood  (11.  18,  19). 

12,  13.     In  ed.  1807  (only)  were : 

.Stop  here  whenever  you  are  weary. 
And  rest  as  in  a  sanctuary ! 

To  connect  the  butterfly  at  rest  in  the  sun  with  "  frozen  seas  "  (1.  5) 
is  an  example  of  the  "abstracting  power"  of  the  imagination,  of  which 
Wordsworth  speaks  in  his  Preface  to  the  ed.  of  181 5;  the  one 
common  characteristic  on  which  the  imagination  concentrates  itself  is 
the  motionlessness  of  both  butterfly  and  ocean. 


TO   THE    SMALL   CELANDINE. 

Written  Apr.  30,  1802,  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  and  published  in 
1807.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in  her  Journal:  "We  came  into 
the  orchard  directly  after  breakfast  and  sat  there.  The  lake  was  calm, 
the  sky  cloudy.  William  began  to  write  the  poem  of  The  Celandine. 
...  I  walked  backwards  and  forwards  with  William.  He  repeated  his 
poem  to  me.  Then  he  got  to  work  again  and  would  not  give  over." 
Wordsworth  notes  as  remarkable  that  "  this  flower,  coming  out  so  early 
in  the  spring  as  it  does,  and  so  bright  and  beautiful  and  in  such  pro- 
fusion, should  not  have  been  noticed  earlier  in  English  verse.  What 
adds  much  to  the  interest  that  attends  it  is  its  habit  of  shutting  itself 
up  and  opening  out  according  to  the  degree  of  light  and  temperature  of 


412  NOTES. 

the  air."  Southey,  however,  in  a  sonnet  ("  'I'hou  lingerest,  Spring  !  ") 
written  in  1799,  had  written  : 

Scarce  doth  the  glossy  celandine  appear 
Starring  the  sunny  bank. 

The  most  interesting  fact  about  the  text  is  that  in  the  ed.  of  1836  and 
until  that  of  1843  ^  stanza  appeared  between  the  present  fifth  and  si.xth 
stanzas,  which  in  1845  Wordsworth  transferred  with  an  altered  text  to 
the  next  following  poem,  "  To  the  Same  Flower,"  where  it  appears  as 
the  last  stanza  but  one  ("  Drawn  by  what  peculiar  spell "). 

16.     Sage  astronomer  in  1S36  replaced  "  great  astronomer." 

27.     Her  nest :  before  1832,  "its  nest." 

58.  Too  strongly  put  before  1836  :  "  Scorn'd  and  slighted  upon 
earth." 

61,  62.      Before  1836  : 

Singing  at  my  heart's  command, 
In  the  lanes  my  thoughts  pursuing. 

Altered,  probably,  because  the  "  singing  "  anticipates  "  I  will  sing  "  in 
1.  63,  and  to  avoid  the  identity  of  rhyme  in  "  ensuing,"  ''  pursuing." 


TO    THE    SAME    FLOWER    ("  Pleasures  newly  found "). 

Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  gives  the  date  of  composition.  May 
I,  1802:  "William  wrote  The  Celandine,  second  part."  Published  in 
1807. 

There  are  interesting  variations  of  text  in  11.  51-53;  in  1807: 

Let,  as  old  Magellen  ["  Magellan,"  181 5]  did, 
Others  roam  about  the  sea  ; 
Build  who  will  a  pyramid. 
In  1820  : 

Let,  with  bold  advent'rous  skill. 
Others  thrid  the  polar  sea  ; 
Rear  a  pyramid  who  will. 

In  1827  as  now,  except  with  "  Adventurer  "  for  "  Discoverer  "  (1845). 
Wordsworth  at  one  time  intended  to  restore  "  old  Magellan." 

For  the  transference  of  the  sixth  stanza,  see  notes  on  the  last  poem. 
As  found  1836-43  in  the  preceding  poem,  it  stood  thus  : 


AOVA-S.  413 

Drawn  by  what  peculiar  spell. 
By  what  charm  for  sight  or  smell, 
Do  those  winged  dim-eyed  creatures, 
Labourers  sent  from  waxen  cells. 
Settle  on  thy  brilliant  features, 
In  neglect  of  buds  and  bells 
Opening  daily  at  thy  side, 
By  the  season  multiplied  ? 

It  was  well  to  erase  the  unhappy  "  Settle  on  thy  brilliant  features." 
14.     Rising  sun  :   1807-32,  "  risen  sun." 
20.     'Kerchief-plots,  plots  no  larger  than  a  handkerchief. 

38.  Sheltering  hold :  1807-27, 'shelter'd  hold." 

39.  Previous  to  1845  this  line  was  "  Bright  as  any  of  the  train." 
50.     Beneath  our  shoon.     Rolfe  compares.  Com/is  634,    the   herb 

"  haemony  "  with  its  "  bright  golden  flower,"  on  which  the  "  dull  swain  " 
treads  daily  "  w-ith  his  clouted  shoon." 

Wordsworth  in  1804  wrote  a  third  poem  on  "  The  Small  Celandine," 
in  a  sadder  strain.     See  p.  191. 


RESOLUTION    AND    INDEPENDENCE. 

Written  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  between  May  3  and  July  4,  1S02  ; 
pubHshed  in  1807.  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  gives  the  dates, 
and  tells  how  Wordsworth,  on  certain  days,  worked  almost  incessantly 
at  "  The  Leech-Gatherer,"  and  "  tired  himself  to  death."  The  incident 
on  which  the  poem  was  founded  was  recorded  by  Dorothy  on  Oct.  3, 
1800.  The  encounter  with  the  Leech-Gatherer  was  probably  on  Sep- 
tember 26.  Not  far  from  Dove  Cottage  the  brother  and  sister  met  "  an 
old  man  almost  double,"  carrying  a  bundle  ;  he  wore  an  apron  and  night- 
cap ;  "his  face  was  interesting;  he  had  dark  eyes  and  a  long  nose." 
The  man  was  of  Scotch  parents,  and  he  had  been  in  the  army  ;  his  wife 
and  nine  out  of  ten  children  were  dead.  ''  His  trade  was  to  gather 
leeches,  but  now  leeches  were  scarce,  and  he  had  not  strength  for  it.  He 
lived  by  begging,  and  was  making  his  way  to  Carlisle  where  he  should 
buy  a  few  godly  books  to  sell."  "  I  was  in  the  state  of  feeling  described 
in  the  beginning  of  the  poem,"  says  Wordsworth  {Feiiwicknote),  "while 
crossing  over  Barton  Fell  from  Mr.  Clarkson's  at  the  foot  of  Ullswater, 
towards  Askham.  The  image  of  the  hare  I  then  observed  on  the  ridge 
of  the  Fell."  In  a  letter  to  friends  [probably  to  Mary  and  Sara 
Hutchinson,  June   14,   1802]   Wordsworth  writes  :    "  I  will  explain    to 


414 


NOTES. 


you  in  prose  my  feelings  in  writing  tluil  poem.  ...  I  describe  myself 
as  having  been  exalted  to  the  highest  pitch  of  delight  by  the  joyousness 
and  beauty  of  nature  ;  and  then  as  depressed,  even  in  the  midst  of 
those  beautiful  objects,  to  the  lowest  dejection  and  despair.  A  young 
poet  in  the  midst  of  the  happiness  of  nature  is  described  as  overwhelmed 
by  the  thoughts  of  the  miserable  reverses  which  have  befallen  the 
happiest  of  all  men,  viz.,  poets.  I  think  of  this  till  I  am  so  deeply 
impressed  with  it,  that  I  consider  the  manner  in  which  I  was  rescued 
from  my  dejection  and  despair  almost  as  an  interposition  of  Providence. 
A  person  reading  the  poem  with  feelings  like  mine  wall  have  been  awed 
and  controlled,  expecting  something  spiritual  or  supernatural.  What 
is  brought  forward  ?  A  lonely  place,  '  a  pond  by  which  an  old  man  was, 
far  from  all  house  or  home'  [the  text  was  subsequently  altered];  not 
stood,  nor  sat,  but  was  —  the  figure  presented  in  the  most  naked  sim- 
plicity possible.  The  feeling  of  spirituality  or  supernaturalness  is 
again  referred  to  as  being  strong  in  my  mind  in  this  passage.  How 
came  he  here  ?  thought  I,  or  what  can  he  be  doing .-'  I  then  described 
him,  whether  ill  or  well  is  not  for  me  to  judge  with  perfect  confidence; 
but  this  I  can  confidently  affirm,  that  though  I  believe  God  has  given 
me  a  strong  imagination,  I  cannot  conceive  a  figure  more  impressive 
than  that  of  an  old  man  like  this,  the  survivor  of  a  wife  and  ten 
children,  travelling  alone  among  the  mountains  and-  all  lonely  places, 
carrying  with  him  his  own  fortitude  and  the  necessities  which  an  unjust 
state  of  society  has  laid  upon  him." 

I,     In  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal,  Feb.  i,  1798,  we  find  "The 
trees  almost  roared." 

5.  Stock-dove.     Wordsworth   confuses   the   stock-dove  and   the 
wood-pigeon.     See  note  on  "  The  Nightingale." 

6.  The  jay  imitates  the  notes  of  other  birds. 
29.     Warbling  in  1820  replaced  "singing." 

44.  His  pride  in  18 15  replaced  "its  pride."  In  the  sonnet  on  Milton 
the  change  was  from  "itself"  to  "herself"  (of  the  soul).  Chatterton 
and  Burns,  when  Wordsworth  wrote,  afforded  very  recent  examples  of 
the  misery  of  poets. 

46.     Following  his  plough  :    before  1820,  "  Behind  his  plough." 
53,  54-     The  reading  before  1820  is  much  less  impressive : 

U'hen  up  and  down  my  fancy  thus  was  driven, 
And  I  with  these  untoward  thoughts  had  striven, 

56.  After  stanza  8  in  early  editions  appeared  a  stanza  censured  by 
Coleridge  in  "  Biographia  Literaria  "  in  1817,  and  omitted  in  1820: 


NOTES.  -115 

My  course  1  stopped  as  soon  as  I  espied 
The  Old  Man  in  this  naked  wilderness  : 
Close  by  a  Pond,  upon  the  further  side, 
He  stood  alone  :  a  minute's  space  1  guess 
1  watch'd  him,  he  continuing  motionless  : 
To  the  Pool's  further  margin  then  I  drew  ; 
He  being  all  the  while  before  me  full  in  view. 

57-63.  Of  this  and  the  next  stanza  Wordsworth  wrote  in  the  Pre- 
face to  ed.  181 5:  "  In  these  images,  the  conferring,  the  abstracting,  and 
the  modifying  powers  of  the  Imagination  immediately  and  mediately 
acting,  are  all  brought  into  conjunction.  The  Stone  is  endowed  \vith 
something  of  the  power  of  life  to  approximate  it  to  the  Sea-beast;  and 
the  Sea-beast  stripped  of  some  of  its  vital  qualities  to  assimilate  it  to 
the  Stone ;  which  intermediate  image  is  thus  treated  for  the  purpose  of 
bringing  the  original  image,  that  of  the  Stone,  to  a  nearer  resemblance 
to  the  figure  and  condition  of  the  aged  Man ;  who  is  divested  of  so 
much  of  the  indications  of  life  and  motion  as  to  bring  him  to  the  point 
where  the  two  objects  unite  and  coalesce  in  just  comparison.  After 
what  has  been  said,  the  image  of  the  Cloud  need  not  be  commented 
upon." 

67.  In  life's  pilgrimage:  an  improvement  of  1^20  on  the  earlier 
'  in  their  pilgrimage." 

71,  Made  more  vivid  in  1836;  previously,  "Himself  he  propped, 
his  body,  limbs,  and  face." 

74.     Before  1820  :  "  Beside  the  little  pond  or  moorish  flood." 

77,  78.  Between  stanzas  n  and  12  a  stanza  is  found  in  manuscript 
describing  the  man  as  pale  of  face,  wearing  a  cloak,  and  carrying  a  pack. 
See  Knight's  "  Wordsworth,"  vol.  II,  p.  318  (ed.  1896). 

82.  Before  1820  :  "  And  now  such  freedom  as  I  could  I  took  " ; 
altered  because  to  accost  the  old  man  was  rather  a  courtesy  than  a 
liberty. 

88.     Before  1820:  "  What  kind  of  work  is  that  which  you  pursue.-"' 

90,  91.     In  1807  and  181 5: 

He  answered  me  with  pleasure  and  surprize, 

.\nd  there  was,  while  he  spake,  a  fire  about  his  eyes. 

In  1820  the  idea  of  pleasure  was  excluded,  and  the  lines  stood  as  now, 
except  the  first  three  words,  which  were  "  He  answer'd,  while."  Words- 
worth in  1836  makes  the  eyes  flash  before  the  lips  speak. 

99.  In  edd.  1807  to  1820  an  awkward,  monosyllabic  line  :  "  He  told 
me  that  he  to  this  pond  had  come  ";  altered  in  1827. 


41 6  NOTES. 

112.  By  apt  admonishment  in  1827  replaced  the  earlier  "and  ['  by,' 
1820]  strong  admonishment,"  1807-15.  The  timeliness  of  the  admon- 
ishment was  the  source  of  its  strength. 

117.  In  1807:  "And  now,  not  knowing  what  the  Old  Man  said";  in 
1815:  "But  now,  perplex'd  by  what  the  Old  Man  had  said."  Altered 
in  1820. 

123.     Pools  in  1827  replaced  "  ponds." 


STANZAS    WRITTEN    IN    MY     POCKET-COPY    OF    THOM- 
SON'S   CASTLE    OF    INDOLENCE. 

Composed  in  the  orchard.  Town-end,  Grasmere,  May  9-1 1,  1802; 
published  in  1815.  In  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  we  find:  "May 
gth  .  .  .  After  tea  he  wrote  two  stanzas  in  the  manner  of  Thomson's 
'  Castle  of  Indolence,'  and  was  tired  out."  "  May  nth.  William  finished 
the  stanzas  about  C.  [Coleridge]  and  himself."  Wordsworth  states 
that  Coleridge's  son,  Hartley,  said  "  that  his  father's  character  and 
habits  are  here  preserved  in  a  livelier  way  than  anything  that  has  been 
written  about  him."  Although,  probably  in  consequence  of  confusion 
in  De  Quincey's  recollection  of  this  poem,  questions  have  been  raised 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  persons  described,  and  Matthew  Arnold,  Mr. 
Stopford  Brooke,  and  others  have  erred  in  the  matter,  I  hold  it  for 
certain  that  in  the  first  four  stanzas  Wordsworth  describes  himself  and 
in  the  last  four  S.  T.  Coleridge.  The  evidence  —  too  long  to  state  here 
—  has  been  collected  by  Mr.  T.  Hutchinson  in  an  admirable  article 
in  The  Fortnightly  Review,  November,  1894.  It  may  be  added  that 
Wordsworth's  biographer,  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  Sara  Coleridge,  and 
others  always  understood  the  poem  aright.  Mr.  E.  H.  Coleridge 
("Letters  of  Coleridge,"  vol.  I,  p.  345,  «.)  maintains  that  the  portraits 
are  composite  —  that  of  the  earlier  stanzas  "  a  blended  portrait  of 
Wordsworth  and  Coleridge,"  that  of  the  later  a  blended  portrait  of 
Coleridge  and  ^VHliam  Calvert. 

5.  This  mood  of  Wordsworth's  is  presented  in  "  Expostulation  " 
and  "  The  Tables  Turned,"  pp.  32-34. 

15.  Before  1836:  "Oft  did."  This  stanza  describes  Wordsworth's 
restless  wanderings  among  the  hills,  engaged  in  the  exciting  toil  of 
composition. 

19.  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  again  and  again  refers  to  the 
extreme  exhaustion  suffered  by  Wordsworth  after  the  excitement  of 
poetical  composition. 


NOTES.  417 

27.  A  naked  Indian.  Perhaps  Wordsworth  had  in  his  mind  the 
orchard  bower  described  in  "  A  Farewell  "  as  an  "  Indian  shed." 

37.  The  description  of  Coleridge's  appearance  in  this  stanza  is  con- 
firmed in  every  detail  by  other  observers  and  by  portraits. 

55-63.  In  1801  Coleridge  had  been  engaged  with  his  friend  William 
Calvert  in  studies  in  natural  and  e.xperiniental  science. 

60.     Before  1827:  "The  beetle  with  his  radiance  manifold." 

62.     Before  1S27:  "And  cups  of  flowers  and  herbage  green  and  gold." 

66,  67.      Before  1836: 

And,  sooth,  these  two  did  love  each  other  dear, 
.\s  far  as  love  in  such  a  place  could  be : 

It  should  be  noticed  that  Wordsworth  placed  these  stanzas,  not  among 
"  Poems  of  the  Imagination,"  but  upon  those  "  Founded  on  the 
Affections." 

Parallels  between  Beattie's  description  of  his  "  Minstrel  "  and  Words- 
worth's account  of  himself  in  this  poem  have  been  noticed. 

A   FAREWELL. 

Written  shortly  before  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  left  Grasmere  in 
the  summer  of  1802,  in  anticipation  of  Wordsworth's  marriage  (October 
4)  to  Mary  Hutchinson;  published  in  181 5.  Dorothy  Wordsworth's 
Journal  gives  the  precise  date  :  "  May  29th.  .  .  .  William  finished  his 
poem  on  going  for  Mary";  and  "June  13th.  William  .  .  .  has  been 
altering  the  poem  to  Mary  this  morning."  The  Journal  gives  delightful 
pictures  of  the  "  little  nook  of  mountain-ground."  "  It  is,"  writes 
Professor  Knight,  "in  very  much  the  same  condition  as  it  was  in  1802. 
The  "  flowering  shrubs  '  and  the  '  rocky  well '  still  e.xist,  and  the  '  steep 
rock's  breast '  is  '  thronged  with  primroses  '  in  spring.  .  .  .  The  '  Bower  ' 
is  gone,  and  where  it  used  to  be  a  seat  is  now  erected."  Since  these 
words  were  written,  Dove  Cottage  and  garden  have  passed  into  the 
guardianship  of  trustees,  who  keep  it  as  a  national  memorial  of  Words- 
worth. It  is  worth  quoting  Dorothy's  farewell,  entered  in  her  Journal 
(July  8)  just  before  she  and  her  brother  left  Dove  Cottage  on  this 
occasion.  "  O  beautiful  place !  Dear  Mary,  William.  The  hour  is 
come  ...  I  must  prepare  to  go.  The  swallows  I  must  leave  them, 
the  wall,  the  garden,  the  roses,  all.  Dear  creatures !  they  sang  last 
night  after  I  was  in  bed;  seemed  to  be  singing  to  one  another,  just 
before  they  settled  to  rest  for  the  night.     Well,  I  must  go.     Farewell." 

10.      Before  1836:  "  And  safely  she  will  ride." 


4i8  NOTES. 

II.  Before  1S36:  "The  flowering  shrubs  that  decorate  our  door." 
The  expression  was  somewhat  too  stately  for  a  cottage. 

18.  Two  months.  In  fact  the  absence  was  one  of  three  months  — 
July  9  to  October  6. 

22.  Gowan.  The  colour  of  the  flower  —  saffron  —  shows  that  the 
common  daisy  cannot  be  meant.  "  Gowan  appears  in  different  parts  of 
Scotland  to  be  applied  to  the  various  buttercups,  the  marsh-marigold, 
the  dandelion,  the  hawkweeds,  the  corn-marigold,  the  globe-flower,  and 
indeed  to  almost  any  that  is  yellow."  Prior's  "  Popular  Names  of 
British  Plants." 

43.     On  thy  face.     Before  1827:  "in  thy  face." 

56.  The  poem  "  The  Sparrow's  Nest."  But  in  fact  that  poem 
refers  to  the  garden  at  Cockermouth,  not  at  Grasmere.  "Sang" 
before  1832  was  "sung." 

TO    H.  C. 

Dated  by  Wordsworth  1802  ;  first  published  in  1807. 

The  subject  of  the  poem  is  Hartley  Coleridge,  who  was  born  Sept. 
19,  1796.  His  brother  Derwent  thus  describes  him:  "Seated  upon 
Jacky's  [Mr.  Jackson,  Hartley's  godfather]  knee,  or  standing  by 
Wilsy's  [Mrs.  Wilson,  the  housekeeper  at  Greta  Hall]  apron,  .  .  .  the 
chirp  of  whose  knitting-needles  formed  an  accompaniment  to  the 
chirrup  of  his  voice,  with  flashing  eyes,  which  those  who  have  seen  will 
not  easily  forget,  the  child  Hartley  would  pour  out  his  strange  specula- 
tions and  weave  his  wild  inventions,  believing  in  his  own  tale.','  His 
father  described  Hartley  as  "a  strange,  strange  boy,  'exquisitely  wild,' 
an  utter  visionary,  like  the  moon  among  their  clouds  he  moves  in  a 
circle  of  his  own  making.  He  alone  is  a  light  of  his  own."  Hartley 
inherited  some  of  his  father's  infirmity  of  will,  and  though  always  loved 
and  lovable,  he  did  not  fulfil  the  promise  of  his  early  years.  His  best 
sonnets  are  admirable,  and  show  the  influence  of  Wordsworth.  He 
died  on  Jan.  6,  1849. 

The  text  is  unaltered  except  1.  28  (now  as  in  1827),  which  at  first 
stood  thus:  "  Not  doom'd  to  jostle  with  unkindly  shocks,"  and  in  1815, 
"  Not  framed  to  undergo  unkindly  shocks."  In  the  first  reading 
'jostle"  was  ungraceful;  in  the  second  "  undergo  "  was  unhappy,  the 
idea  requiring  "  sustain." 

In  1807  Wordsworth  acknowledged  that  he  owed  something  to 
Jonathan  Carver's  "  Travels."  In  describing  Lake  Superior,  Carver 
writes :    "  The  water  in  general   appeared   to  be   on   a  bed   of  rocks. 


NOTES.  419 

When  it  was  calm,  and  the  sun  shone  bright,  I  could  sit  in  my  canoe, 
where  the  depth  was  upward  of  six  fathoms,  and  plainly  see  huge  piles 
of  stone  at  the  bottom,  of  different  shapes,  some  of  which  appeared  as 
if  they  were  hewn.  The  water  at  this  time  was  pure  and  transparent 
as  air,  and  my  canoe  seemed  as  if  it  hung  suspended  in  that  element." 
(Pp.  132,  133,  ed.  1781.)  Compare  11.  6-8. 
In  a  pathetic  sonnet  beginning 

How  long  I  sail'd,  and  never  took  a  thought 
To  what  port  I  was  bound, 

Hartley  Coleridge  has  lines  which  probably  were  written  with  a  reminis- 
cence of  this  poem  addressed  to  him  by  Wordsworth : 

And  watch  the  sunbeams  dallying  with  the  waves; 
Or  haply  dream  what  realms  beneatli  may  lie 
Where  the  clear  ocean  is  an  emerald  sky. 

TO    THE    DALSV   ("  In  youth  from  rock  to  rock"). 

This  poem  was  composed  in  the  orchard,  Town-end,  Grasmere,  in 
1802,  and  was  published  in  1807.  The  lines  from  Wither  were  prefixed 
in  181 5. 

7,  8.      In  1840  these  lines  of  1807  were  restored;  in  1836  : 

And  Nature's  love  of  thee  partake. 
Her  much-loved  Daisy! 

Altered    to   avoid    the   tautology  of   "love"   and   "loved";    and   here 
"  sweet,"  frequently  cancelled,  was  happily  introduced. 
9-12.     The  present  text  is  of  1836.     In  1807: 

When  soothed  a  while  by  milder  airs. 
Thee  Winter  in  the  garland  wears 
That  thinly  shades  his  few  gray  hairs  ; 
Spring  cannot  shun  thee  ; 

The  idea  of  Spring  shunning  the  daisy  was  not  happy,  and  in  1827  the 

lines  became : 

When  Winter  decks  his  few  gray  hairs 
Thee  in  the  scanty  wreath  he  wears ; 
Spring  parts  the  clouds  with  softest  airs, 
That  she  may  sun  thee ; 

17.  Morrice  train.  A  morris  was  a  rustic  dance  performed  in 
spring  and  summer  time ;  said  to  be  derived  from  the  Moors  or  Moris- 
coes,  with  whom  it  originated;  a  morris  train,  a  train  of  morris  dancers. 


42  o  NOTES. 

ig-2i.     The  text  is  of  1836.     In  1807: 

If  welcome  ["  welcom'd,"  1815,  1820]  once  thou  count'st  it  gain  ; 

Thou  art  not  daunted, 
Nor  car'st  if  thou  be  set  at  naught ; 

25.  Mews,  from  French  nine,  moulting;  hence  a  cage;  hence  an 
enclosed  place,  and  specially  stables;  hence  a  lane  or  alley  in  which 
stables  are  situated,  and  so  a  lane  or  alley ;  the  idea  of  a  retired  place  is 
the  dominant  one  here. 

57-64.     In  1807  the  stanza  stood  thus: 

When,  smitten  by  the  morning  ray, 

I  see  thee  rise  alert  and  gay. 

Then,  chearful  Flower !  my  spirits  play 

With  kindred  motion : 
At  dusk  I  've  seldom  mark'd  thee  press 
The  ground,  as  if  in  thankfulness, 
Without  some  feeling,  more  or  less. 

Of  true  devotion. 

The  last  five  of  these  lines  were  altered  to  the  present  text  in  181 5; 
the  "more  or  less"  was  a  superfluity,  ridiculed  by  the  Edinburgh  Re- 
view. The  first  two  lines  of  the  stanza  were  amended  in  1836;  as  they 
previously  stood, "  smitten,"  etc.,  belonged  rather  to  "  I  "  than  to  "  thee." 

73-80.     This  stanza,  as  we  have  it,  dates  from  1836.     In  1807: 

Child  of  the  Year !  that  round  dost  run 
Thy  course,  bold  lover  of  the  sun, 
And  chearful  when  the  day  's  begun 

As  morning  Leveret, 
Thou  long  the  Poet's  praise  shalt  gain  ; 
Thou  wilt  be  more  belov'd  by  men 
In  times  to  come  ;  thou  not  in  vain 

Art  Nature's  Favourite. 

The  idea  of  regaining  lost  praise  is  of  181 5  : 

Thy  long-lost  praise  thou  shalt  regain  ; 
Dear  shalt  thou  be  to  future  men 
As  in  old  time  ; 

There  is  something  to  regret  in  the  loss  of  the  fine  expression 
"  bold  lover  of  the  sun,"  but  probably  Wordsworth  thought  that  the 
idea  of  running  a  planetary  cour.se  round  the  sun  might  be  suggested, 
which  he  did  not  intend. 

Leveret  is  a  young  hare. 


NOTES.  421 


TO   THE   SAME    FLOWER    ("  With  little  here  "  ). 

The  date  of  composition  is  1S02  (see  note  on  "To  the  Daisy,"  the 
poem  beginning  "  In  youth  from  rock  to  rock  I  went  ").  Wordsworth's 
date  —  1805  —  in  edd.  1836-49  is  erroneous;  first  published,  1807. 

3.  In  edd.  1807-32:  "Sweet  Daisy!  oft  I  talk  to  thee."  Here, 
and  in  1.  41  where  the  first  reading  was  "  Sweet  Plower  !  "  W^ordsworth 
in  1836  removed  the  word  "Sweet"  and  read  from  1836  until  1845, 
when  the  present  text  was  adopted,  "  Yet  once  again  I  talk  to  thee." 

9,  10.     The  text  is  of  1820.     In  1807-15  : 

Oft  do  I  sit  by  thee  at  ease 
And  weave  a  web  of  similies. 

The  poem  is  classed  by  Wordsworth  under  the  head  "  Poems  of  the 
P'ancy."  In  the  Preface  to  ed.  181 5  he  writes:  "The  law  under  which 
the  processes  of  Fancy  are  carried  on  is  as  capricious  as  the  accidents 
of  things,  and  the  effects  are  surprising,  playful,  ludicrous,  amusing, 
tender,  or  pathetic,  as  the  objects  happen  to  be  oppositely  produced  or 
fortunately  combined.  Fancy  depends  upon  the  rapidity  and  profusion 
with  which  she  scatters  her  thoughts  and  images ;  trusting  that  their 
number,  and  the  felicity  with  which  they  are  linked  together,  will  make 
amends  for  the  want  of  individual  value ;  or  she  prides  herself  upon  the 
curious  subtilty  and  the  successful  elaboration  with  which  she  can 
detect  their  lurking  affinities." 

Writing  of  stanzas  3,  5,  6  in  "  Modern  Painters,"  part  III,  sect,  ii, 
chap.  V,  Ruskin  writes:  "Observe  how  spiritual,  yet  how  wandering 
and  playful  the  fancy  is  in  the  first  two  stanzas,  and  how  far  she  flies 
from  the  matter  in  hand,  never  stopping  to  brood  on  the  character  of 
any  one  of  the  images  she  summons,  and  yet  for  a  moment  truly  seeing 
and  believing  in  them  all ;  while  in  the  last  stanza  the  imagination 
returns  with  its  deep  feeling  to  the  heart  of  the  flower,  and  cleaves  fast 
to  that." 

TO    THE    DAISY    ("  Bright  Flower!  "). 

This  is  one  of  three  poems  to  the  Daisy  written  in  1802  at  Town-end, 
Grasmere  ;  Wordsworth  fell  at  a  later  time  into  errors  respecting  the 
dates  (see  Aldine  ed.  of  "  Wordsworth,"  vol.  II,  p.  263).  He  described 
("  Poems,"  1807)  this  poem,  and  also  that  beginning  "  With  little  here 
to  do  and  see,"  as  "  overflowings  of  the  mind  in  composing  "  the  poem 
to  the  Daisy,  beginning  "  In  youth  from  rock  to  rock  I  went."     In  these 


42  2  NOTES. 

stanzas,  however,  fancy  is  not,  as  in  the  other  Daisy  poems,  the  pre- 
dominant faculty,  and  they  were  placed  among  "  Poems  of  Sentiment 
and  Reflection." 

The  third  stanza  was  omitted  in  edd.  1827  and  1832,  perhaps  because 
the  words  "thy  function  apostolical"  had  been  censured  as  little  less 
than  profane.  "The  word  [apostolical],"  said  Wordsworth  to  Miss 
Fenwick,  "  is  adopted  with  reference  to  its  derivation,  implying  some- 
thing sent  out  on  a  mission ;  and  assuredly  this  little  flower,  especially 
when  the  subject  of  verse,  may  be  regarded,  in  its  humble  degree,  as 
administering  both  to  moral  and  spiritual  purposes." 

2.  Until  1840  was  perhaps  better:  "  A  Pilgrim  bold  in  Nature's  care," 
and  in  1827  and  1832  1.  3  was  "And  oft,  the  long  year  through,  the 
heir."     In  1S37  an  unhappy  opening  (repented  of  in  1840)  appears: 

Confiding  Flower,  by  Nature's  care 
Made  bold,  —  who,  lodging  here  or  there, 
Art  all,  etc. 

and  at  the  same  time  1.  6  became  "  Communion  with  humanity." 

9.  Is  as  it  originally  stood  ;  but  in  edd.  1827  and  1832,  "  And  where- 
fore .''     Man    is   soon  deprest."      The  earlier  reading  was  restored  in 

1837- 

Matthew  Arnold  prints  the  1832  text,  from  which  stanza  3  was 
omitted. 

The  three  Daisy  poems  of  Wordsworth  should  be  read  in  connection 
with  one  another,  and  with  them  James  Montgomery's  "  A  Field 
Hower,"  which  has  some  thoughts  in  common  with  these  poems. 
Montgomery's  poem  is  of  1803,  but  it  was  written  before  the  publica- 
tion of  the  poems  of  Wordsworth  to  the  daisy. 


WHEN   TO   THE    ATTRACTIONS    OF   THE   BUSY 
WORLD. 

Wordsworth  in  181 5  and  1820  dated  this  poem  1802;  in  1836  he 
gave  the  date  1805,  but  probably  in  order  to  connect  the  poem  with 
those  relating  to  his  brother  John's  death,  which  took  place  at  mid- 
night of  Feb.  5,  1805.  We  might  without  hesitation  accept  the  date 
1802,  for  the  poem  was  certainly  written  before  John  Wordsworth's 
death  (see  closing  lines  and  Wordsworth's  note),  were  it  not  for 
references  in  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  of  1800  (when  John  was 
staying  at  Grasmere)  to  a  poem  which  she  calls  "The  Fir-grove,"  and 


NOTES.  423 

to  a  poem  which  she  speaks  of  as  an  "  inscription  about  the  path  "  : 
"  Sept.  I.  \V.  read  'Joanna'  and  '  The  Fir-grove'  to  Coleridge,"  and  two 
days  previously:  "  I  left  William  to  compose  an  inscription,  that  about 
the  path."  On  the  following  day  (August  30)  :  "  William  finished  his 
inscription  of  the  Pathway."  It  seems  highly  probable  that  the  poem 
was  partly  written  in  August,  iSoo,  and  was  carried  farther,  and  to  the 
present  close,  in  1802.  Professor  Knight  conjectures  that  in  1800  it 
closed  at  1.  66.     The  poem  was  published  in  181 5. 

"  The  Fir-grove,"  writes  Knight,  "  still  exists.  It  is  between  Wishing 
Gate  and  White-Moss  Common,  and  almost  exactly  opposite  the 
former."  Wordsworth  pointed  out  the  single  beech-tree  (1.  18)  to  Miss 
Cookson  a  few  days  before  Dora  Wordsworth's  death.  "  John's  grove  " 
was  "  a  favourite  haunt  with  us  all,"  says  Wordsworth,  "  while  we  lived 
at  Town-end." 

1-5.     The  time  spoken  of  is  the  opening  of  1800. 

36.     Beneath  in  1836  replaced  "between." 

39-41.      In  181 5  : 

And,  baffled  thus,  before  the  Storm  relaxed, 
I  ceased  that  ["the"'  1827]  Shelter  to  frequent. 

Altered  in  1836.     Wordsworth  wished  to  bring  out  the  fact  that  there 
was  a  series  of  storms. 
51-61.     In  1S15: 

Much  wondering  at  my  own  simplicity 

How  I  could  e'er  have  made  a  fruitless  search 

For  what  was  now  so  obvious.     At  the  sight 

Conviction  also  flashed  upon  my  mind 

That  this  same  path  (within  the  shady  grove 

Begun  and  ended)  by  my  Brother's  steps 

Had  been  impressed.     To  sojourn  a  short  while 

Beneath  my  roof  He  from  the  barren  seas 

Had  newly  come —  a  cherished  \isitant ! 

And  much  did  it  delight  me  to  perceive 

That,  to  this  opportune  recess  allured, 

He  had  surveyed  it  with  a  finer  eye, 

A  heart  more  wakeful ;  that,  more  loth  to  part 

From  place  so  lovely,  he  had  worn  the  track. 

The  change  was  made  in  1827,  leaving  only  two  words  to  correct  —  in 
1.  54,  "Under"  in  1845  replacing  "Beneath,"  and  in  the  same  line 
"gladly"  in  1840  replacing  "newly."  A  MS.  note  of  Wordsworth's 
shows  that  "newly"  was  removed  because  time  was  needed  to  trace  a 


42  4  NOTES. 

visible  path.     The  chief  object  of  the  change  in  this  passage  was  to  in- 
form the  reader  of  John  Wordsworth's  presence  before  telling  of  the 
conviction  that  the  path  was  made  by  his  footsteps. 
64-66.     Before  1845  • 

With  which  the  Sailor  measures  o'er  and  o'er 
His  short  domain  upon  the  vessel's  deck, 
While  she  is  travelling  through  the  dreary  sea. 

Wordsworth   did  not  think  "travelling"  the  best  word  to  apply  to  a 
ship. 

67.  Esthwaite's  pleasant  shore,  where  the  brothers  were  at  the 
Hawkshead  school. 

72.     Mind  was:  a  correction  of  1836;  previously,  "minds  were." 
76,  77.     Compare  Leonard's  feelings  at  sea  in  "  The  Brothers." 
80.     A  silent  Poet.     Compare  the  passage  in  Bk.  i  of  "  The  Ex- 
cursion," beginning  at  1.  77. 

82.     Inevitable  ear,  an  ear  which  no  sound  can  elude. 
84-87.      Before  1S27: 

art  gone ; 
And  now  I  call  the  path-way  by  thy  name 
And  love 

91.     Peaceful:  before  1827,  "placid." 

loi.  Thoughtfully:  before  1827,  "to  and  fro."  John  Words- 
worth took  a  deep  interest  in  his  brother's  poetry.  On  board  ship  he 
was  known  as  "  the  Philosopher." 


THE    GREEN    LINNET. 

Written  in  1803;  published  in  1807.     ^^e  birds  in  the  orchard  at 
Dove  Cottage,  Grasmere,  suggested  the  poem. 
1-8.     In  1807  this  stanza  was  as  follows  : 

The  May  is  come  again:  —  how  sweet 

To  sit  upon  my  Orchard-seat ! 

And  Birds  and  Flowers  once  more  to  greet, 

My  last  year's  Friends  together  ; 
My  thoughts  they  all  by  turns  employ ; 
A  whispering  Leaf  is  now  my  joy, 
And  then  a  Bird  will  be  the  toy 

That  doth  my  fancy  tether. 


NOTES.  425 

The  change  was  made  in  1815  (with  "flowers  and  birds"  in  1.  7  until 
1827).  The  self-conscious  personal  element  ceased  to  intrude,  and  the 
descriptive  power  was  increased. 

25.     Amid  was  substituted  in  1845  for  "  Upon." 

33-40.      This  stanza  stood  thus  in  1S07: 

While  thus  before  my  eyes  lie  gleams, 
A  Brother  of  the  Leaves  he  seems  ; 
When  in  a  moinent  forth  he  teems 

His  little  song  in  gushes  : 
As  if  it  pleas'd  him  to  disdain 
And  mock  the  form  which  he  did  feign 
While  he  was  dancing  with  the  train 

Of  Leaves  among  the  bushes. 

In  1820  the  sixth  line  of  this  stanza  became  "  The  voiceless  form  he 
chose  to  feign."  The  Edinburgh  Review  objected  to  the  "  toy  "  and 
"  tether "  of  stanza  i  and  the  "  teems  "  of  this  stanza.  Wordsworth 
after  a  time  came  round  to  his  critic's  view.  In  1827  the  last  stanza 
was  altered  to  the  present  text,  except  its  first  two  lines,  which  cost 
Wordsworth  many  "  poetic  pains  "  : 

My  sight  he  dazzles,  half  deceives, 

A  bird  so  like  the  dancing  Leaves;  (1S27.) 

After  slight  alterations  in  1832  and  1840,  the  present  text  was  reached  in 
1845. 

Mr.  Wintringham  writes  in  "The  Itirds  of  Wordsworth,"  p.  123: 
"Of  all  English  birds,  the  greenfinch —  or  the  green  grosbeak — is  best 
adapted  to  its  position  in  nature.  Its  colour  makes  it  almost  imper- 
ceptible to  all  who  are  not  adepts  in  ornithology.  The  bright  gamboge 
yellow  of  its  primary  feathers  and  the  bright  golden-green  of  the  least 
wing-coverts  do  not  foil  the  hiding  powers  of  its  other  plumage,  but 
rather  complete  than  destroy  the  bird's  perfect  adaptation." 


YEW-TREES. 

Written  at  Grasmere  in  1803;  published  in  181 5.  The  text  is  un- 
changed. The  yew-trees  of  Borrowdale  still  exist.  A  favorite  excursion 
from  Keswick  is  to  Buttermere  by  Borrowdale,  returning  by  the  Vale  of 
Lorton.  Wordsworth  considered  this — and  justly  —  one  of  the  most 
imaginative  of  his  poems ;  it  is  cited  by  Coleridge  to  prove  that  Words- 
worth possessed  "  imagination  in  the  highest  and  strictest  sense  of  the 


43  6  NOTES. 

word."  Ruskin  ("Modern  Painters,  part  III,  sect,  ii,  chap,  iv)  calls  it 
"  the  most  vigorous  and  solemn  bit  of  forest  landscape  ever  painted." 

5.  Umfraville  or  Percy.  Percy  is  remembered  in  connection  with 
the  Ballad  of  Chevy  Chase.  A  Sir  Ingram  Umfraville  fought  with 
Edward  at  Bannockburn;  a  Sir  Robert  Umfraville,  vice-admiral  of 
England,  invaded  Scotland  in  141  o. 

II.  This  prophecy  of  the  undecaying  life  of  the  tree  has  not  ]:)een 
fulfilled. 

15.  Fraternal  four.  Compare  the  sonnet  beginning  "  Degenerate 
Douglas  !  "  1.  6,  "  A  brotherhood  of  venerable  trees." 

18.  Inveterately,  by  virtue  of  old  habit ;  Lat.,  in  and  vetcrare,  to 
grow  or  become  old. 

22.  Pining,  decaying.  Coleridge,  in  giving  these  lines  in  "  Bio- 
graphia  Literaria,"  printed  the  word  "  pinal,"  meaning  perhaps  "  of  pine- 
trees."     See  quotation  from  Ruskin  which  follows. 

23-28.  Perhaps  the  mythology  of  these  lines  was  suggested  by 
Virgil,  /Eneid  VI,  273-2S4;  but  it  is  also  evidently  influenced  by  the 
associations  of  the  yew  with  church-yards. 

33.  Glaramara  is  a  rugged  mountain  rising  out  of  the  Borrowdale 
valley.  Ruskin  ("  Modern  Painters,"  part  IV,  chap,  xvii),  having 
described  how  three  or  four  different  persons  will  variously  regard  a 
group  of  pine-trees,  comes  to  "  the  man  who  has  most  the  power  of 
contemplating  the  thing  itself":  "He  will  not  see  the  colours  of  the 
tree  so  well  as  the  artist,  nor  its  fibres  so  well  as  the  engineer ;  he  will 
not  altogether  share  the  emotion  of  the  sentimentalist,  nor  the  trance  of 
the  idealist ;  but  fancy,  and  feeling,  and  perception,  and  imagination 
will  all  obscurely  meet  and  balance  themselves  in  him,  and  he  will  see 
the  pine-trees  somewhat  in  this  manner  "  (quoting  Wordsworth's  lines, 
"  Worthier  still  of  note,"  etc.).  Perhaps  Ruskin  forgot  that  Words- 
worth is  describing  yews  and  not  pines. 


AT   THE   GRAVE    OF   BURNS    ("  I  shiver,"  etc.). 

This  poem  is  connected  with  W^ordsworth's  tour  in  Scotland,  1803, 
and  may  have  been  written  then  or  soon  after;  but  it  was  not  published 
until  1842.  In  illustration  of  the  poem,  Wordsworth  gives  in  a  note  a 
long  extract  from  his  sister's  Journal.  The  travellers  reached  Dumfries 
late  on  August  17,  and  next  day  visited  the  grave  of  Bums.  There  was 
no  stone  to  mark  the  spot ;  not  long  afterwards  the  body  was  moved 
from    its  first  resting-place  to    the   mausoleum.     "  We  looked  at  the 


A,'0  TES. 


42; 


grave  with  melancholy  and  painful  reflections,  repeating  to  each  other 
his  own  verses,  '  Is  there  a  man  whose  judgment  clear,'  etc."  They 
afterwards  visited  Burns's  house ;  Mrs.  Burns  was  absent,  and  the 
servant  said  she  was  in  great  sorrow  for  the  death  of  her  son  Wallace. 
Proceeding  to  EUisland,  they  saw  from  within  half  a  mile  of  Burns's 
dwelling-place  the  Cumberland  mountains.  "  Drayton  has  prettily 
described  the  connexion  which  this  neighborhood  has  with  ours  when 
he  makes  Skiddaw  say  : 

'  Scurfell  [Critfel]  from  the  sky, 
That  Anadale  [Annandale]  doth  crown,  with  a  most  amorous  eye, 
Salutes  me  every  day,  or  at  my  pride  looks  grim, 
Oft  threatniug  me  with  clouds,  as  I  oft  threatning  him' 

These  lines  recurred  to  William's  memory,  and  we  talked  of  Burns  and 
of  the  prospect  he  must  have  had,  perhaps  from  his  own  door,  of  Skid- 
daw  and  his  companions,  indulging  ourselves  in  the  fancy  that  we 
might  have  been  personally  known  to  each  other,  and  he  have  looked 
upon  those  objects  with  more  pleasure  for  our  sakes."  Compare  11.  37- 
48. 

In  181 6  Wordsworth  printed  as  a  pamphlet  his  "  Letter  to  a  Friend 
of  Robert  Burns,"  in  which  he  criticises  Dr.  Currie's  "  Life  of  Burns," 
attempts  to  fix  the  principles  on  which  information  as  to  the  lives  of 
authors  should  be  given  or  withheld,  and  writes  generously  of  his  brother 
poet. 

In  the  poems  relating  to  Burns,  the  favourite  stanza  of  the  Scottish 
poet  is  adopted.  Lines  ig,  20  refer  to  Burns's  poem  "To  a  Mountain 
Daisy,"  from  which  "glinted  forth  "  is  taken.  Lines  31-34  previous  to 
1845  were: 

Well  might  I  mourn  that  He  was  gone 

Whose  light  I  hailed  when  first  it  shone, 

When,  breaking  forth  as  nature's  own 
It  showed  my  youth 

Wordsworth's  grief  was  not  peculiar  to  himself,  except  in  its  degree. 

39.  Criffel  or  Crowfell,  a  mountain  in  the  county  of  Kirkcudbright, 
above  iSoo  feet  high. 

50.  Poor  Inhabitant  below,  from  Burns's  "A  Bard's  Epitaph," 
which  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  had  been  repeating  to  each  other  at 
the  grave. 

77,  78.  This  may  refer  to  Burns's  poem  "  A  Prayer  in  the  Prospect 
of  Death." 


42  8  NOTES. 


THOUGHTS    SUGGESTED    THE    DAY    FOLLOWING. 

This  poem  was  not  written  until  many  years  after  1803;  the  date  is 
uncertain;  it  was  first  published  in  1842.  Wordsworth  tells  Prof. 
Henry  Reed  in  a  letter  of  Dec.  23,  1S39,  that  he  had  very  lately  added 
the  last  stanza  {"  But  why  to  Him.")     The  text  was  never  altered. 

3,  Burns  in  his  poem  "  The  Vision  "  imagines  the  Scottish  muse 
crowning  his  head  with  holly. 

7-12.      See  note  on  last  poems. 


TO    A    HIGHLAND    GIRL. 

Written,  as  Dorothy  Wordsworth  states  in  her  Journal,  "not  long 
after  our  return  [Sept.  25,  1803]  from  Scotland";  first  published  in 
1807;  placed  in  edd.  181 5  and  1820  among  "Poems  of  the  Imagina- 
tion." On  Sunday,  Aug.  28,  1803,  Wordsworth,  with  his  sister  and 
Coleridge,  when  descending  a  hill  towards  Loch  Lomond,  overtook  two 
gray-plaided  girls,  one  "  exceedingly  beautiful."  "  They  answered  us," 
Dorothy  writes,  "so  sweetly  that  we  were  quite  delighted,  at  the  same 
time  that  they  stared  at  us  with  an  innocent  look  of  wonder.  I  think 
I  never  heard  the  English  language  sound  more  sweetly  than  from  the 
mouth  of  the  elder  of  these  girls,  while  she  stood  at  the  gate  answering 
our  inquiries,  her  face  flushed  with  the  rain  ;  her  pronunciation  was  clear 
and  distinct ;  without  difficulty,  yet  slow,  like  that  of  a  foreign  speech  " 
(see  11.  38-46).  They  were  the  sister  and  sister-in-law  of  the  ferryman. 
The  day  was  one  of  drenching  rain ;  at  the  ferry-house  the  wanderers 
dried  their  clothes  and  obtained  food,  while  the  waterfall  hard  by  "  was 
roaring  at  the  end  of  the  hut,"  and  the  waves  were  dashing  against  the 
shore.  After  some  time  the  ferry-boat,  laden  with  some  twenty  men 
and  women  in  bright  attire,  arrived;  "there  was  a  joyous  bustle  sur- 
rounding the  boat,  which  even  imparted  something  of  the  same  char- 
acter to  the  waterfall  in  its  tumult,  and  the  restless  grey  waves ;  the 
young  men  laughed  and  shouted,  the  lasses  laughed,  and  the  older  folks 
seemed  to  be  in  a  bustle  to  be  away."  Coleridge,  in  his  Journal  (see 
"  Letters  of  Coleridge,"  I,  432,  «.),  tells  also  of  the  "two  little  lassies" 
who  "did  everything  with  such  sweetness,  and  one,  14,  with  such  native 
elegance.  Oh !  she  was  a  divine  creature !  "  She  rertiinded  Words- 
worth and  Dorothy  (says  Coleridge)  of  the  Highland  girl  in  "  Peter 
Bell." 


NOTES.  429 

Wordsworth,  iii  the  Fenwick  note,  says  :  "  The  sort  of  prophecy  with 
which  the  verses  conclude  has,  through  God's  goodness,  been  realised, 
and  now,  approaching  the  close  of  my  73rd  year,  I  have  a  most  vivid 
remembrance  of  her  and  the  beautiful  objects  with  which  she  was  sur- 
rounded. She  is  alluded  to  in  the  poem  of  '  The  Three  Cottage  Girls' 
in  my  Continental  Memorials."  The  lines  from  this  poem  of  1820  are 
the  following  : 

Sweet  Highland  Girl!  a  very  shower 

Of  beauty  was  thy  earthly  dower, 

When  thou  didst  flit  before  mine  eyes, 

Gay  vision  under  sullen  skies. 

While  Hope  and  Love  around  thee  played, 

Near  tlie  rough  Falls  of  Inversneyd  ! 

Have  they,  who  nursed  the  blossom,  seen 

No  breach  of  promise  in  the  fruit.'' 

Was  joy,  in  following  joy,  as  keen 

As  grief  can  be  in  grief's  pursuit .' 

When  youth  had  flown  did  hope  still  bless 

Thy  goings  —  or  the  cheerfulness 

Of  innocence  survive  to  mitigate  distress  ? 

The  ideality  of  the  poem  "  To  a  Highland  Girl "  required  a  trans- 
formation of  the  actual  facts  ;  we  hear  nothing  of  the  poet's  or  the 
girl's  companions ;  nothing  of  the  crowded  ferry-boat,  the  drenching 
rain,  the  "  tumult  and  storm,"  of  which  Dorothy's  Journal  tells. 

The  division  of  the  poem  into  four  sections,  each  closing  with  a 
triplet,  imparts  to  it  something  of  the  character  of  a  poem  in  stanzas; 
and  in  the  sequence  of  thought  and  feeling  it  bears  a  resemblance  to 
"  She  was  a  Phantom  of  delight,"  the  gerfn  of  which,  Wordsworth 
stated,  "  was  four  lines  composed  as  a  part  of  the  verses  on  the  High- 
land Girl."  In  both  poems  a  "  Phantom  "  or  "  Vision  "  (stanza  and 
section  i)  is  discovered  (stanza  2)  to  be  a  "  Woman,"  and  this  again 
(stanza  3)  is  heightened  and  dignified.  The  "  Highland  Girl "  closes 
with  a  characteristically  Wordsworthian  return  upon  the  poet  himself. 

5,  6.  Wordsworth's  care  for  his  text  is  illustrated  by  the  variations 
in  these  lines.  "These"  and  "this,"  1S07-32,  gave  place  in  1836-43 
to  "  those  "  and  "  that  ";  the  present  reading  was  attained  in  1845. 

II.  This,  the  earliest  text,  was  restored  in  1845,  after  "ye  do 
seem"  1815-32,  and  the  unhappy  reading  of  1836-43  "In  truth,  un- 
folding thus,  ye  seem." 

15-17.  For  these  three  lines  of  1845-49  stood  in  earlier  edd.  only 
one:    "Yet  dream  and  ['or,'   1S36-43]   Vision    as  thou  art."     Word.s- 


43  o  NOTES. 

worth  desired  to  bring  the  vision  and  the  reality  into  closer  conjunction 
before  the  concluding  lines  of  this  section. 

20.  An  improvement  of  1845  °"  ^^  earlier  "  I  neither  know  Thee, 
nor  thy  peers,"  where  the  emphasis  fell  more  on  "  know "  than  on 
"  Thee." 

66-78.  With  this  assertion  of  the  abiding  gain  for  Memory,  com- 
pare Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  :  "  I  never  think  of  the  two  girls 
but  the  whole  image  of  that  romantic  spot  is  before  me  a  living  image, 
as  it  will  be  to  my  dying  day." 


GLEN    ALMAIN. 

Written  probably  in  1803  and  published  in  1807.  On  Sept.  9,  1803, 
Wordsworth,  with  his  sister,  walked  through  Glen  Almond  —  known 
locally  as  "the  Sma'  Glen"  —  in  Perthshire.  Knight  says  he  does  not 
know  that  it  was  ever  called  "  Glen  Almain  "  till  Wordsworth  gave  it 
"  that  remarkably  un-Scottish  name."  The  form  "  Almon  "  is  found, 
and  it  is  said  to  be  a  corrupted  spelling  of  the  Gaelic  "  Avon  "  =  river. 
Dorothy  Wordsworth  describes  it  as  "a  very  sweet  scene,  a  green 
valley,  not  very  narrow,  with  a  few  scattered  trees  and  huts,  almost  in- 
visible in  a  misty  green  of  afternoon  light " ;  it  became  very  narrow  as 
they  advanced  —  "everything  is  simple  and  undisturbed."  She  speaks 
of  "  its  own  peculiar  character  of  removedness  from  the  world,"  and 
adds :  "  The  poem  was  written  by  William  on  hearing  of  a  tradition 
relating  to  it,  which  we  did  not  know  when  we  were  there." 

Only  two  words  were  changed  in  the  poem:  in  1.  21  "such"  was 
"this"  before  1827  (altered  to  avoid  the  recurrence  of  "this"  in  11.  20, 
21);  and  "Yet"  in  1.  29,  where  before  1827  stood  "And."  See  on 
Wordsworth  and  Ossian  the  poem  "  Written  on  a  blank  leaf  of  Mac- 
pherson's  Ossian,"  and  the  notes  to  that  poem.  Wordsworth  never 
accepted  as  genuine  remains  of  antiquity  the  Ossianic  poems  given  to 
the  world  by  Macpherson. 


STEPPING    WESTWARD. 

Written  at  some  date  between  1803  and  April-May,  1805  (when 
Dorothy  Wordsworth  copied  it  for  her  Journal);  first  published,  1807. 
The  text  is  unchanged,  except  that  in  1.  19  the  copy  in  the  Journal  gives 
"  was  "  in  place  of  "  had."  The  date  of  the  incident  is  Sunday,  Sept.  11, 
1803.     "  We  have  never  had  a  more  delightful  walk,"  Dorothy  writes, 


NOTES.  431 

"than  this  evening.  Ben  Lomond  and  the  three  pointed-topped  moun- 
tains of  Loch  Lomond,  which  we  had  seen  from  the  Garrison,  were 
very  majestic  under  the  clear  sky,  the  lake  perfectly  calm,  the  air  sweet 
and  mild.  .  .  .  The  sun  had  been  set  for  some  time,  when,  being  within 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  ferryman's  hut,  our  path  having  led  us  close 
to  the  shore  of  the  calm  lake,  we  met  two  neatly  dressed  women,  with- 
out hats,  who  had  probably  been  taking  their  Sunday  evening's  walk. 
One  of  them  said  to  us  in  a  friendly,  soft  tone  of  voice,  '  What  !  you 
are  stepping  westward .' '  I  cannot  describe  how  affecting  this  simple 
expression  was  in  that  remote  place,  with  the  western  sky  in  front,  yet 
glowing  with  the  departed  sun.  William  wrote  the  following  poem 
long  after,  in  remembrance  of  his  feelings  and  mine."  Here,  as  in  "  The 
Solitary  Reaper,"  the  visionary  and  the  human  are  blended ;  the  woman's 
question  is  at  once  an  oracular  utterance  and  a  courteous  salutation. 


THE    SOLITARY    REAPER. 

Written  at  some  date  between  Sept.  13,  1803  and  May,  1805  (when 
Dorothy  Wordsworth  copied  it  for  her  Journal);  first  published,  1807. 
It  is  a  "  Poem  of  the  Imagination,"  and  was  placed  under  that  heading 
1815-20;  but  it  is  rightly  included  in  "Memorials  of  a  Tour  in  Scot- 
land, 1803,"  although  no  such  reaper  was  seen  and  no  such  song  was 
heard  by  the  poet.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in  her  Journal  of  the 
Tour,  under  the  date  September  13  :  "  As  we  descended  [the  pedestrians 
were  near  Loch  Voil],  the  scene  became  more  fertile,  our  way  being 
pleasantly  varied  —  through  coppices  or  open  fields,  and  passing  farm- 
houses, though  always  with  an  intermixture  of  uncultivated  ground.  It 
was  harvest-time,  and  the  fields  were  quietly  —  might  I  be  allowed  to 
say  pensively?  —  enlivened  by  small  companies  of  reapers.  It  is  not 
uncommon  in  the  more  lonely  parts  of  the  Highlands  to  see  a  single 
person  so  employed.  The  following  poem  was  suggested  to  William 
by  a  beautiful  sentence  in  Thomas  Wilkinson's  '  Tour  of  Scotland.' " 
This  fact  is  mentioned  by  Wordsworth  in  a  note,  ed.  1807,  where  he 
adds:  "A  MS.  Tour  in  Scotland  by  a  Friend,  the  last  line  being  taken 
from  it  verbatim."  Wilkinson,  whose  spade  became  the  subject  of  a 
poem  by  Wordsworth,  was  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  pro- 
prietor of  a  small  hereditary  estate  near  Yanwath,  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Emont.  His  "  Tours  to  the  British  Mountains,  with  the  Descriptive 
Poems  of  Lowther  and  Emont  Vale,"  was  published  in  1824.  The 
sentence   (p.  12)    which   suggested   Wordsworth's  "  .Solitary   Reaper"  is 


432 


NOTES. 


the  following:  "  Passed  a  female  who  was  reaping  alone;  she  sung  in 
Erse  as  she  bended  over  her  sickle;  the  sweetest  human  voice  I  ever 
heard;  her  strains  were  tenderly  melancholy,  and  felt  delicious,  long 
after  they  were  heard  no  more." 

Wordsworth's  ear,  though  so  finely  organised  for  sensibility  to  the 
sounds  of  nature,  was  not  capable  of  much  musical  delight.  In  this 
poem,  as  Mr.  W.  A.  Heard  has  written,  the  singer's  voice  "becomes 
almost  a  part  of  nature,  working  a  human  sweetness  into  the  land- 
scape. .  .  .  We  feel  the  song  to  be  the  very  soul  of  the  valley." 
("  Wordsworthiana,"  p.  235.) 

4.     "  Her  strains  were  tenderly  melancholy" — Wilkinson. 

10.  Previous  to  1827  was  "  So  sweetly  to  reposing  bands,"  and  1.  13, 
"  No  sweeter  voice  was  ever  heard."  Compare  Wilkinson's  "  The 
sweetest  human  voice,"  etc.  Wordsworth  believed  that  he  had  used 
the  word  "sweet"  to  excess  throughout  his  poems,  and  in  1827  he 
removed  it  from  ten  passages;  in  later  editions  from  fifteen  additional 
passages.  In  1827  1.  13  became  "Such  thrilling  voice  was  never 
heard";  the  present  reading  dates  from  1837.  In  his  "  Guide  to  the 
Lakes,"  Wordsworth  speaks  of  "  an  imaginative  influence  in  the  voice 
of  the  cuckoo,  when  that  voice  has  taken  possession  of  a  deep  moun- 
tain valley."  Here  the  sense  of  solitude  must  be  predominant,  and  it 
is  enhanced  by  the  "  silence  of  the  seas "  (a  phrase  almost  identical 
occurs  in  "  The  Ancient  Mariner  ")  and  the  silence  of  the  desert. 

17.  Wordsworth  has  not  imported  from  his  source  a  mention  of 
the  fact  that  the  song  was  in  Erse. 

19.  Old,  unhappy,  far-off  things.  In  her  diary  for  the  day  which 
includes  this  poem  Dorothy  Wordsworth  notes:  "  William  here  con- 
ceived the  notion  of  writing  an  ode  upon  the  affecting  subject  of  those 
relics  of  human  society  found  in  that  grand  and  solitary  region." 

25.  The  alternate  rhymes  cease  in  this  concluding  stanza,  and  the 
demand  of  the  ear  is  met  by  the  double  rhymes  "ending"  and  "bend- 
ing." 

29.  In  1807  and  181 5  (with  the  characteristic  boldness  of  Words- 
worth's earlier  texts) :  "I  listen'd  till  I  had  my  fill";  in  the  next  line 
"  as  "  became  "when  "  in  1827  ;  "  as"  was  happily  restored  in  1836. 

It  may  be  noted  that  in  his  selections  from  Wordsworth  Matthew 
Arnold  manufactures  a  text  from  several  editions,  assuredly  not  a 
legitimate  process.  He  retains  "So  sweetly  to  reposing  bands"  from 
1807-20;  adopts  "  A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard  "  from  1836-49; 
retains  "  I  listen'd  till  I  had  my  fill"  from  1807-15;  and  gives  "when" 
in  1.  30,  which  is  found  only  in  1827-32. 


NOTES.  433 


ADDRESS    TO    KILCHURN    CASTLE. 

The  first  three  lines,  Wordsworth  says,  were  "  thrown  off  at  the 
moment  I  first  caught  sight  of  the  Ruin,"  i.e.,  on  Aug.  31,  1803  ; 
''  the  rest  was  added  many  years  after."  The  poem  was  first  published 
in  1827.  "We  were  very  lucky,"  writes  Dorothy  Wordsworth,  "in 
seeing  it  after  a  great  flood;  for  its  enchanting  effect  was  chiefly  owing 
to  its  situation  in  the  lake,  a  decayed  palace  rising  out  of  the  plain  of 
waters !  " 

10.     Thy  rugged  Sire,  War  (as  in  1.  i). 

19.     Holds:  before  1836,  "has." 

35.     Infant  years  in  1845  replaced  "  infancy." 

The  idea  of  the  poem  —  the  majesty  of  nature  yielding  to  a  vener- 
able memorial  of  humanity  —  is  not  of  frequent  occurrence  in  the 
writings  of  Wordsworth. 

YARROW    UNVISITED    f  From  Stirling  Castle  "). 

Written  in  1S03  and  published  in  1807.  The  text  is  unchanged.  On 
September  17  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  walked  through  the  Glen  of 
Roslin,  past  Hawthornden,  to  Scott's  house  at  Lasswade.  Scott 
promised  to  meet  them  two  days  afterwards  at  Melrose.  Next  day 
they  walked  from  Peebles  by  the  Tweed,  and  Wordsworth  wrote  the 
fine  sonnet  "Degenerate  Douglas!"  (p.  317).  "We  left  the  Tweed," 
writes  Dorothy,  "  when  we  were  within  about  a  mile  and  a  half  or  two 
miles  of  Clovenford.  ...  At  Clovenford,  being  so  near  to  the  Yarrow, 
we  could  not  but  think  of  the  possibility  of  going  thither,  but  came  to 
tlie  conclusion  of  reserving  the  pleasure  for  some  future  time,  in  conse- 
quence of  which,  after  our  return  {i.e.,  to  Grasmere],  William  wrote  the 
poem." 

When  Wordsworth  refers  to  the  "  various  poems  the  scene  of 
which  is  laid  upon  the  banks  of  Yarrow,"  he  doubtless  had  in  his  mind 
Logan's  pathetic  ballad  "  The  Braes  of  Yarrow  "  (of  which  each  stanza, 
as  with  Wordsworth's  poem  and  others,  closes  with  the  word  "  Yarrow") 
and"probably  "  Willie's  Drowned  in  Yarrow,""  The  Douglas  Tragedy," 
"The  Lament  of  the  Border  Widow,"  and  "The  Dowie  Dens  of  Yar- 
row."    See  Veitch's  "  History  and  Poetry  of  the  Scottish  Border." 

6.  Winsome  Marrow.  "  Marrow,"  a  partner;  perhaps  a  corruption 
of  French  viari. 

17.  The  Gala  flows  into  the  Tweed  near  Abbotsford,  below  Gala- 
shiels.     It  is  celebrated  in  .Scottish  ballads.     The  Leader  gives  its  name 


434 


NO  TES. 


to  Lauder- Dale,  and  joins  the  Tweed  near  Melrose.  Haughs  means 
holms,  low-lying  lands,  which  may  be  occasionally  overflowed. 

20.     Lintwhites,  linnets. 

35.  Fair  hangs  the  apple  frae  the  rock,  from  "  The  Braes  of  Yar- 
row," by  Hamilton  of  Bangour.  The  "apple"  is  probably  the  red 
berry  of  the  rowan  or  mountain-ash. 

37.     Strath,  a  valley  through  which  a  river  runs. 

43.  St.  Mary's  Lake,  the  reservoir  from  which  the  Yarrow  takes 
its  rise.  In  the  Introduction  to  Canto  II  of  "  Marmion,"  Scott  describes 
"lone  St.  Mary's  silent  lake."  See  "  The  Feeling  for  Nature  in  Scottish 
Poetry"  by  Professor  Veitch,  vol.  II,  p.  196.  "In  the  winter,"  writes 
Scott,  "  it  is  still  frequented  by  flights  of  wild  swans ;  hence  my  friend 
Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines  : 

The  swan  on  sweet  St.  Mary's  lake 

Floats  double,  swan  and  shadow.     (Notes  to  "  Marmion.") 

Wordsworth  said  to  .\ubrey  de  Vere  :  "  Scott  misquoted  in  one  of  his 
novels  my  lines  on  Yarrow.     He  makes  me  write  — 

The  swans  on  sweet  St.  Mary's  lake 
Float  double,  swans  and  shadow. 

But  I  wrote  '  The  sivan  on  still  St.  Mary's  lake.'  Never  could  I  have 
written  '  swans '  in  the  plural.  The  scene,  when  I  saw  it,  with  its  still 
and  dim  lake,  under  the  dusky  hills,  was  one  of  utter  loneliness;  there 
was  one  swan,  and  one  only,  stemming  the  water,  and  the  pathetic 
loneliness  of  the  region  gave  importance  to  the  one  companion  of  that 
swan  —  its  own  white  image  in  the  water."  De  Vere's  "  Essays,"  vol. 
II,  p.  277. 

This  poem  — a  plea  for  preserving  the  ideal  Yarrow  of  imagination 
rather  than  looking  on  the  real  Yarrow  —  should  be  read  with  ''  Yarrow 
Visited"  and  "Yarrow  Revisited."  When  in  1814  Wordsworth  saw 
the  romantic  stream,  the  real  was,  as  he  says,  "  won,"  and  yet  the  ideal 
was  not  lost. 


LINES    ON    THE    EXPECTED    INVASION. 

Written  in  1S03,  but  not  published  until  1S42.  The  text  is  un- 
changed. Compare  the  sonnets  "  To  the  Men  of  Kent  "  and  "  In  the 
Pass  of  Killicranky,  an  Invasion  being  expected." 

3.  Falkland,  Lucius  Cary,  second  Viscount  Falkland,  who  died 
fighting  for  King  Charles  I  at  the  battle  of  Newbury,  Sept.  20,  1643. 


NOTES.  435 

4.  Montrose,  James  Graham,  fifth  Earl  and  first  Marquis  of 
Montrose,  who  fought  on  the  Royalist  side,  and  was  hanged  in  the 
Grassmarket,  Edinburgh,  May  21,  1650. 

7.  Pym,  John  Pym,  who  was  conspicuous  in  the  proceedings 
against  Strafford  and  I^and.     He  died  Dec.  8,  1643. 

"SHE    WAS    A    PHANTOM    OF    DELIGHT." 

Written  in  1804  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  and  published  in  1807. 
Wordsworth  stated  that  the  germ  of  the  poem  was  four  lines  composed 
as  a  part  of  the  verses  on  the  Highland  girl.  See  as  to  similarity  of 
plan  in  both  poems  the  note  on  "  To  a  Highland  Girl,"  p.  424.  "  Though 
beginning  in  this  way,"  said  Wordsworth,  "  it  was  written  from  my 
heart,  as  is  sufficiently  obvious  "—  meaning  that  it  has  reference  to  his 
wife.  In  "The  Prelude,"  Bk.  vi,  Mary  Hutchinson  is  described  in  a 
like  way: 

By  her  exulting  outside  look  of  youth 

And  placid  under-countenance  first  endeared. 

For  a  closer  parallel,  see  "  The  Prelude,"  Bk.  xiv,  1.  268.     In  the  last  line 
of  this  poem  "  angelic  light  "  replaced  in  1845  ^^  earlier  "  an  angel  light." 

8.  Became  in  1836  "  From  May-time's  brightest,  liveliest  dawn," 
but  the  earlier  reading  was  happily  restored. 

The  idea  which  appears  in  the  "  Ode  :  Intimations  of  Immortality  " 
and  in  the  "  Elegiac  Stanzas  suggested  by  a  Picture  of  Peele  Castle  "  of 
a  visionary  glory  passing  away  or  being  taken  up  into  a  graver  feeling 
for  life  is  present  here  in  another  connection. 

22.  "  The  very  pulse  of  the  machine  "  has  been  an  offence  to  some 
lovers  of  this  poem.  Does  Wordsworth  mean  by  machine  merely  the 
body,  as  Hamlet  does  in  his  signature  of  the  letter  to  Ophelia  :  "  Thine 
.  .  .  whilst  this  machine  is  to  him  "  .'  I  rather  think  the  whole  woman 
with  all  her  household  routine  is  conceived  as  the  organism  of  which 
the  thoughtful  soul  is  the  animating  principle.  In  Bartram's  "Travels," 
a  book  which  Wordsworth  used  for  his  "  Ruth,"  I  find  the  following: 
"  At  the  return  of  the  morning,  by  the  powerful  influence  of  light,  the 
pulse  of  nature  becomes  more  active,  and  the  universal  vibration  of 
life  insensibly  and  irresistibly  moves  the  wondrous  machined 

Wordsworth  told  Crabb  Robinson  that  the  poems  "  Our  walk  was 
far,"  etc.,  "  She  was  a  Phantom,"  and  the  two  sonnets  "  To  a  Painter" 
should  be  read  in  succession  "  as  e.xhibiting  the  different  phases  of 
affection  to  his  wife." 


436  NOTES. 


"I    WANDERED    LONELY,"  etc. 

Written  in  1804  at  Town-end,  Grasmere.  First  published  in  1807. 
The  place  of  the  poem  is  in  Gowbarrow  Park,  Ullswater,  where  the 
daffodils  were  seen  on  Apr.  15,  1802.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in 
her  Journal  :  "  I  never  saw  daffodils  so  beautiful.  They  grew  among 
the  mossy  stones,  about  and  above  them ;  some  rested  their  heads 
upon  these  stones,  as  on  a  pillow  for  weariness ;  and  the  rest  tossed 
and  reeled  and  danced,  and  seemed  as  if  they  verily  laughed  with  the 
wind  that  blew  directly  over  the  lake  to  them.  They  looked  so  gay,  ever 
glancing,  ever  changing.  .  .  .  There  was  here  and  there  a  little  knot, 
and  a  few  stragglers  higher  up;  but  they  were  so  few  as  not  to  disturb 
the  simplicity,  unity,  and  life  of  that  one  busy  highway.  We  rested 
again  and  again.  The  bays  were  stormy,  and  we  heard  the  waves  at 
different  distances,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  water,  like  the  sea." 

The  second  stanza  was  an  afterthought,  added  in  ed.  181 5,  after 
which  date  the  text  remained  (finally)  unaltered. 

In  1807,  in  1.  4,  "dancing"  stood  where  we  have  "golden,"  and  in 
1.  16,  "laughing"  (from  Dorothy's  Journal)  where  we  have  "jocund." 

Again,  in  1807,  1.  5,  "Along"  stood  in  place  of  "Beside,"  and  the 
next  line  was  "  Ten  thousand  dancing,"  etc. 

The  two  admirable  lines  21,  22  were  contributed  by  Mary  Words- 
worth, the  poet's  wife.  In  181 5  Wordsworth  described  the  subject  of 
the  stanzas  as  "  rather  an  elementary  feeling  and  single  impression 
(approaching  to  the  nature  of  an  ocular  spectrum)  upon  the  imagi- 
native faculty  than  an  exej-tion  of  it."  The  facts  are  idealized ;  Words- 
worth did  not  wander  "  lonely  as  a  cloud  ";  his  sister  accompanied  him; 
the  host  of  daffodils  were  not  at  first  seen.  "  We  saw,"  says  Miss 
Wordsworth,  "a  few  daffodils  close  to  the  water  side";  the  sense  of 
the  "jocund  company"  is  enhanced  by  the  preceding  solitude,  and  the 
unity  of  the  joyous  impression  depends  partly  on  the  completeness  and 
suddenness  of  the  surprise. 

THE    AFFLICTION    OF    MARGARET  . 

Written  in  1804  at  Town-end,  Grasmere;  published  in  1807,  with  the 

title  "  The  Affliction  of  Margaret of ";  in  1820  "  The  Affliction 

of  Margaret  ";  and  in  1845  the  present  title,  perhaps  to  indicate  that  it 
was  not  a  poem  wholly  of  imaginative  invention.  It  was  "  taken," 
Wordsworth  says,  "  from  the  case  of  a  poor  widow  who  lived  in  the 
town  of  Penrith.     Her  sorrow  was  well  known  to  Mrs.  Wordsworth,  to 


NOTES.  437 

my  sister,  and,  I  believe,  to  the  whole  town.     She  kept  a  shop,  and 
when  she  saw  a  stranger  passing  by,  she  was  in  the  habit  of  going  into 
the  street  to  enquire  of  him  after  her  son. 
10,  II.     Before  1836  : 

To  have  despaired,  and  have  beUev'd, 
And  be  for  evermore  beguil'd  ; 

24.     Before  1827:  "  What  power  hath  even  his  wildest  scream." 

56.  Incommunicable  sleep.  Mr.  Myers  interprets  this  (in  an  un- 
usual sense  of  "  incommunicable  ")  as  a  sleep  that  cannot  be  communi- 
cated with.  Perhaps  this  is  right ;  but  may  it  not  mean  a  sleep  that 
can  make  no  communication.''  The  reference  to  "all  thy  mates"  adds 
to  the  idea  of  the  solitude  and  isolation  of  this  sleep  of  death. 

Coleridge  in  "  Biographia  Literaria  "  speaks  of  this  poem  as  ''  that 
most  affecting  composition,  which  no  mother,  and,  if  I  may  judge  by 
my  own  experience,  no  parent  can  read  without  a  tear." 

60.  .\s  in  other  passages,  "  Between  "  was  substituted  in  1S32  for 
"  Betwixt." 

ADDRESS   TO    MV    INFANT    DAUGHTER   DORA. 

Written  Sept.  16,  1804,  and  published  in  181 5.  Dora's  birthday, 
August  16,  was  also  that  of  her  mother.  The  name  Dora  was  added 
to  the  title  in  1849,  after  her  death.  So  in  "  The  Kitten  and  the  Fall- 
ing Leaves,"  and  also  in  "  The  Longest  Day,"  in  1849  '  Laura  "  was 
changed  to  "  Dora."     The  text  was  never  altered. 

4.  That  bright  star,  the  moon.  So  Dante,  "  Paradiso,"  II,  30  (of 
the  moon)  : 

Fix  gpratefully  thy  mind 
On  God,  who  unto  the  first  star  has  brought  us 

—  la  prima  stella.      Cf.  Hamlet,  I,  i,  118,  "  the  moist  star." 

15.  "  Heaven's  eternal  year,"  from  Dryden's  "  Ode  to  the  Memory 
of  Mrs.  Anne  Killigrew." 

This  poem  is  placed  by  Wordsworth  among  "  Poems  of  the  Fancy," 
not  those  "  Founded  on  the  Affections,"  probably  on  the  ground  of  the 
parallels  suggested  between  the  moon's  monthly  progress  and  the  life 
of  the  infant.  In  the  closing  lines  Wordsworth's  favourite  thought  of 
the  continuity  of  human  life  —  the  gladness  and  love  of  infancy  passing 
into  the  maturer  joy  and  reasonable  passion  of  older  years  —  is  touched 
on. 


438  NOTES. 


THE    SMALL   CELANDINE    ("  There  is  a  Flower  "). 

Written  in  1804;  published  in  1807.  This  was  subsequently  placed 
by  Wordsworth  among  "  Poems  referring  to  the  Period  of  Old  Age." 
The  text  is  unchanged,  except  that  in  1.  4  "himself"  in  1837  replaced 
"  itself,"  and  in  1.  17  "cheer"  in  1827  replaced  "bless." 

MORNING    AMONG   THE    MOUNTAINS. 

[From  "  The  Prelude,"  Bk.  iv.] 

The  fourth  book  of  "The  Prelude  "  was  written  in  1804.  The  time 
to  which  the  incident  belongs  was  a  summer  vacation  from  studies  at 
Cambridge.  The  "dear  Friend"  of  the  close  of  the  extract  was  Cole- 
ridge, to  whom  "The  Prelude"  was  addressed. 

ASCENT    OF    SNOWDON. 

[From  "The   Prelude,"  Bk.  xiv.] 

I.  Those  excursions.  The  excursion  referred  to  was  in  the  sum- 
mer and  autumn  of  1793.  Wordsworth  had  explored  North  Wales 
previously  in  1791.  On  both  occasions  he  was  accompanied  by  his 
friend  Robert  Jones. 

3.  Cambria,  Latin  for  Wales. 

4.  Bethgelert,  in  the  county  of  Carnarvon,  six  miles  from  Snow- 
don.  The  name  means  "  the  grave  of  Gelert,"  where  a  priory  is  said  to 
have  been  founded  by  Llewellyn,  the  last  king  of  Wales,  in  memory  of 
the*hound  which  had  saved  his  child  from  a  wolf,  and  was  rashly  killed 
by  the  king. 

22.     Lurcher,  a  cross  between  a  shepherd's  dog  and  a  greyhound. 

47.     Main  Atlantic,  the  ocean  of  mist. 

51-53.  In  Pope's  translation  of  the  celebrated  moonlight  scene  in 
the  "  Iliad,"  he  fails  to  recognize  the  dwindling  of  the  lesser  stars  in  the 
light  of  the  moon.  Wordsworth  in  his  prose  "  Essay,  Supplementar\ 
to  the  Preface  to  '  Lyrical  Ballads '  "  points  to  this  passage  as  shoyving 
to  what  a  low  state  knowledge  of  the  most  obvious  phenomena  of 
nature  had  sunk  in  early  eighteenth-century  poetry. 

86-111.  Compare  Wordsworth's  analysis  of  the  power  of  the 
Imagination  in  his  Preface  to  the  edition  of    181 5. 

120.  Discursive  or  intuitive,  that  is,  having  relation  to  processes 
of  reasoninsj  or  to  direct  intuition. 


NO'JKS. 


439 


Stopford  Brooke  says  of  this  passage  :  "  It  is  one  of  the  finest  speci- 
mens of  Wordsworth's  grand  style.  It  is  as  sustained  and  stately  as 
Milton,  but  differs  from  Milton's  style  in  the  greater  simplicity  of 
diction." 

THE    SIMPLON    PASS. 

Probably  written  in  1804,  the  date  of  "The  Prelude,"  Bk.  vi,  from 
which  it  is  an  extract,  but  dated  by  Wordsworth  1799,  as  the  year  in 
which  "The  Prelude"  was  begun;  first  published  in  1845.  Words- 
worth crossed  the  Alps,  with  his  friend  Jones,  in  the  University  summer 
vacation  of  1790. 

2.  "The  Prelude"  for  "Pass"  reads  "strait,"  and  in  1.  4  reads 
"  pace  "  for  "  step." 

18.  Characters,  etc.,  the  letters  of  that  revelation  of  the  spirit 
which  works  in  and  through  nature. 


MIST    OPEXIXO    IN    THE    HILLS. 
[From  "The  Excursion,"  Bk.  ii.] 

The  date  at  which  the  second  book  of  "  The  Excursion "  was 
written  cannot  be  certainly  determined ;  but  in  December,  1804,  Words- 
worth wrote  to  Sir  George  Beaumont  of  2000  lines  of  "  The  Pedler  "  as 
in  existence.  These  probably  formed  the  first  two  books  of  "The  Ex- 
cursion." 

The  Solitary  has  related  how  an  old  man,  lost  by  night  among  the 
mountains,  was  found  by  the  peasants  amid  the  ruins  of  a  mountain 
chapel.  The  title  for  the  extract  I  have  accepted  from  Dean  Church 
(Ward's  "  The  English   Poets,"  vol.  IV,  p.  77). 


FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 

This  extract  from  "  The  Prelude,"  Bk.  xi,  was  probably  written  in 
December,  1S04,  or  early  in  1S05;  it  was  given  in  The  Friend,  Oct. 
26,  1809,  and  was  reprinted  in  Wordsworth's  Poems,  181 5. 

3.     We:  in  "  The  Prelude"  "  us." 

II.  Enchantress:  in  The  Friend,  1809,  "Enchanter."  Lines  9- 
II  are  very  well  applicable  to  Godwin's  treatise  "  Political  Justice,"  in 
which  all  professes  to  be  based  on  reason,  while  it  puts  forth  the  most 
visionary  views  of  future  social  progress. 


440  NUTEH. 

13.     The  French  Revolution  spoke  of  the  rights,  not  of  any  partic- 
ular country,  but  of  man  as  man. 
15,  16.     Before  1832  : 

(To  take  an  image  which  was  felt  no  doubt 
Among  the  bowers  of  paradise  itself) 

It  was  hardly  correct  to  speak  of  an  "image"  as  "felt."  The  reading 
was  found  fault  with  as  prosaic  and  self-conscious  in  "  Guesses  at 
Truth  "  by  the  brothers  Hare;  and  Wordsworth,  before  altering  it,  had 
probably  heard  the  criticism.  See  "  Guesses  at  Truth,"  second  series, 
p.  108,  ed.  1848. 

36.  Subterranean  in  1832  replaced  "  subterraneous." 

37.  Some  secreted    island,    such   as   Plato's   Atlantis   or  Bacon's 
New  Atlantis. 

39,  40.     The  opposition  is  not  between  this  life  and  a  future  life, 
but  between  the  real  world  and  a  world  of  the  imagination. 


ODE   TO    DUTY. 

Written  in  1805;  published  in  1807.  "The  ode,"  says  Words- 
worth, "  is  on  the  model  of  Gray's  '  Ode  to  Adversity,'  which  is  copied 
from  Horace's  '  Ode  to  Fortune.'  "  The  stanza  is  the  same  as  that  of 
Gray;  and  as  Gray  does  honour  to  the  benign  character  of  Adversity, 
so  Wordsworth  shows  the  "  benignant  grace  "  of  the  "  stern  Lawgiver," 
Duty. 

The  Ode  exists  in  two  states,  differing  considerably  from  its  final 
form;  one  of  these  is  the  published  text  of  1807;  the  other  is  a 
version  of  the  Ode  printed  for  the  poems  of  1807,  but  cancelled  while 
those  volumes  were  going  through  the  press.  It  was  discovered  by  Mr. 
Tutin  of  Hull.  The  published  text  of  1807  gives  a  stanza  —  retained 
in  no  subsequent  edition  —  which  came  between  the  present  fifth  and 
sixth  stanzas ;  it  dwells  on  the  gain  of  uniting  choice  with  d.uty  and 
freedom  with  law  : 

Yet  not  the  less  would  I  throughout 

Still  act  according  to  the  voice 

Of  my  own  wish ;  and  feel  past  doubt 

That  my  submissiveness  was  choice : 

Not  seeking  in  the  school  of  pride 

For  "  precepts  over  dignified," 

Denial  and  restraint  I  prize 

No  farther  than  they  breed  a  second  Will  more  wise. 


I 


NOTES. 


441 


The  cancelled  version  agrees  in  its  last  four  stanzas  with  the  published 
text  of  1807.     The  first  four  stanzas  are  the  following: 

There  are  who  tread  a  blameless  way 

In  purity,  and  love,  and  truth, 

Though  resting  on  no  better  stay 

Than  on  the  genial  sense  of  youth  : 

Glad  Hearts  !  without  reproach  or  blot : 

Who  do  the  right,  and  know  it  not ; 

May  joy  be  theirs  while  life  shall  last 

And  may  a  genial  sense  remain  when  youth  is  past. 

Serene  would  be  our  days  and  bright ; 

And  happy  would  our  nature  be : 

If  Love  were  an  unerring  light  ; 

And  Joy  its  own  security. 

And  bless'd  are  they  who  in  the  main 

This  creed,  even  now,  do  entertain, 

Do  in  this  spirit  live  ;  yet  know 

That  Man  hath  other  hopes  :  strength  which  elsewhere  must  grow. 

I,  loving  freedom,  and  untried ; 

No  sport  of  every  random  gust. 

Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide, 

Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust ; 

Resolv'd  that  nothing  e'er  should  press 

Upon  my  present  happiness, 

I  shov'd  unwelcome  tasks  away  : 

But  henceforth  I  would  serve ;  and  strictly  if  1  may. 

O  Power  of  DUTY  I  sent  from  God 

To  enforce  on  earth  liis  high  behest. 

And  keep  us  faithful  to  the  road 

Which  Conscience  hath  pronounc'd  the  best : 

Thou,  who  art  Victory  and  Law 

When  empty  terrors  overawe ; 

From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free, 

From  Strife,  and  from  Despair,  a  glorious  Ministry! 

The  last  of  these  stanzas  became  first,  with  a  greatly  ennobled  te.xt,  in 
the  published  version. 

8.  In  1807  (only)  the  last  line  was  retained  from  stanza  4  of  the 
cancelled  version  :  "  From  strife  and  from  despair;  a  glorious  ministry." 

15,  16.  The  final  text — 1837  —  was  preceded  by  two  earlier  read- 
ings ;  in  1807-20  : 


442  NOTEH. 


In  1827-32 


May  joy  be  theirs  while  life  shall  last ! 

And  Thou,  if  they  should  totter,  teach  them  to  stand  fast  1 


Long  may  the  kindly  impulse  last ! 
But  Thou.  etc. 


Wordsworth's  sense  of  the  dangers  attending  the  impulsive  temperament 
had  grown  stronger  with  his  maturer  experience. 
21,  22.     Before  1827: 

And  bless'd  are  they  who  in  the  main 
This  faith,  even  now,  do  entertain  : 

To  "  entertain  "  a  faith  "  in  the  main  "  was  not  a  happy  form  of  ex- 
pression. 

24.  The  text  is  of  1845.  In  1807-32:  "  Yet  find  that  other  strength, 
according  to  their  need."     In  1837:  "Yet  find  thy  firm  support." 

29-31.  The  text  is  of  1827.  In  1807  the  three  lines  of  the  can- 
celled version,  given  above,  were  retained :  "  Resolv'd  that  nothing," 
etc.     In   181 5: 

Full  oft  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 
Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferred 
The  task  imposed,  from  day  to  day ; 

40.  In  1827  "  that  "  replaced  "  which,"  to  avoid  the  misunderstand- 
ing "which  ever."  Compare  with  the  idea  of  this  ode  the  sonnet 
"  Nuns  fret  not,"  and  the  poem  on  "  The  Pass  of  Kirkstone." 

TO    A   SKY-LARK  ("  Up  with  me  !"). 

Written  in  1805;  published  in  1807.  Wordsworth,  after  Miss  Fen- 
wick's  "  Rydal  Mount,"  added  a  MS.  note:  "Where  there  are  no  sky- 
larks; but  the  poet  is  everywhere."  The  poem  reached  its  final  form 
in  1S32.     In  1S07,  after  1.  25  came  the  following  close : 

Hearing  thee,  or  else  some  other. 

As  merry  a  Brother, 

I  on  the  earth  will  go  plodding  on. 

By  myself,  chearfully,  till  the  day  is  done. 

These  lines  in  1S20  were  replaced  by  the  following: 

What  though  my  course  be  rugged  and  uneven, 
To  prickly  moors  and  dusty  ways  confined, 


I. 


iVO  TES.  443 

Yet  hearing  thee,  or  others  of  thy  kind, 
As  full  of  gladness  and  as  free  of  heaven, 
I  on  the  earth  will  go  plodding  on, 
By  myself  chearfully,  till  the  day  is  done. 

In  1827  the  last  six  lines  of  the  present  text  were  substituted;  but  they 
followed  immediately  1.  7,  "  The  spot  which  seems  so  to  thy  mind,"  the 
intermediate  lines,  8-25,  being  omitted.  Finally  in  1S32  these  were 
restored. 

5.  Before  1827  this  line  was  "  With  all  the  heav'ns  about  thee 
ringing."  Altered,  perhaps,  because  "  all  the  heavens  "  suggests  a  cloud- 
less sky. 

10.  Wings  in  181 5  replaced  "soul."  Ha.s  a  fairy  a  soul?  It  is 
certainly  with  wings  that  it  fiies. 

12.  There  is  madness  about  thee.  Compare  the  last  stanza  of 
Shelley's  "  Skylark  "  : 

Teach  me  half  the  gladness 
That  thy  brain  must  know, 
Such  harmonious  madness 
From  my  lips  would  flow, 
The  world  should  listen  then,  as  I  am  listening  now. 

14.  Before  1832  :  "  Up  with  me,  up  with  me,  high  and  high." 
Wordsworth  told  Barron  Field  that  having  succeeded  so  well  in  the 
second  "  Skylark  "  (p.  280),  and  in  the  stanzas  of  "  A  Morning  Exercise," 
which  notice  the  bird  (p.  281),  he  became  indifferent  to  this  poem,  which 
Coleridge  used  severely  to  condemn  and  to  treat  contemptuously : 
"  I  like,  however,  the  beginning  of  it  so  well,  that  for  the  sake  of  that 
I  tacked  to  it  the  respectably-tame  conclusion."  Coleridge  in  "  Bio- 
graphia  Literaria  "  notes  the  two  noble  lines 

With  a  soul  as  strong  as  a  mountain  river 
Pouring  out  praise  to  the  Almighty  giver 

as  placed  amid  incongruous  surroundings. 


FIDELITY. 

Written  in  1805  and  published  in  1807.  In  the  spring  of  1805  a 
young  man  named  Charles  Gough  came  to  Patterdale  for  the  sake  of 
angling.  While  attempting,  early  in  April,  to  cross  over  Helvellyn  to 
Grasmere,  he  slipped  from  a  rock  on  which  the  ice  had  not  thawed, 
and  he  perished.     The  body  was  found  July  22,  still  watched  by  his 


444  NOTES. 

terrier.  Scott  and  Wordsworth  climbed  Helvellyn  together  in  th;il 
year,  and  each,  without  knowing  that  the  other  had  taken  up  the  sub- 
ject, wrote  a  poem  on  the  dog's  fideUty.  Scott's  poem  named  "  Hel- 
vellyn "  is  that  beginning  with  the  line  "  I  climbed  the  dark  brow  of  the 
mighty  Plelvellyn."  Wordsworth  said  to  Crabb  Robinson  that  he 
"purposely  made  the  narrative  as  prosaic  as  possible,  in  order  that  no 
discredit  might  be  thrown  on  the  truth  of  the  incident." 
7,  8.     Less  prosaic  than  in  r8o7,  which  edition  read  : 

From  which  immediately  leaps  out 
A  Dog,  and  yelping  runs  about. 

The  change  was  made  in   1815,  with  "from"  for  "through"  in  1.8; 
"  through,"  1820. 

20.  A  silent  tarn,  the  Red  Tarn  (tarn,  a  small  mountain  lake), 
which  lies  at  a  great  height  between  Striding  Edge  and  Catchedecam. 

25.  Doth  in  1820  replaced  "does,"  probably  to  avoid  the  repeated 
final  "s"  in  "sometimes  does." 

26.  Cheer,  enlivenment  or  solace. 

33.  Holds:  before  1837,  "binds,"  less  appropriate  to  a  barrier  than 
"holds." 

34.  In  1807  (only)  :  "  Not  knowing  what  to  think,  a  while." 

36.  Before  1837:  "Towards  the  Dog,  o'er  rocks  and  stones"; 
altered  to  avoid  the  dissyllabic  "  towards." 

40.  In  1807  (only) :  "  Sad  sight  !  the  shepherd  with  a  sigh."  "  Sad 
sight  !  "  was  a  feeble  exclamation. 

50,  51.     In    1S07    (only),  with    a  clumsy  division    of  "for  sake  of 

which  "  : 

But  hear  a  wonder  now,  for  sake 
Of  which  this  mournful  Tale  I  tell ! 

59.  Before  1827:  "  On  which  the  Traveller  thus  had  died";  altered 
to  avoid  repeating  from  11.  48,  49. 

61.  His  master's  side.  Scott,  more  exact  to  the  fact  in  this  par- 
ticular, makes  the  faithful  dog  female. 


ELEGIAC    STANZAS,    SUGGESTED     BY     A     PICTURE     OF 
PEELE   CASTLE. 

Written  in  1805  ^""^  published  in  1807.  The  poet's  brother,  Capt. 
John  Wordsworth,  went  down  with  his  ship,  an  East  Indiaman,  off  the 
Bill  of  Portland,  Feb.  5,  1805.  This  poem  should  be  read  in  connection 
with  "To  the   Daisy"   ("Sweet    Hower  !  belike    one   day  to  have"), 


XOTES.  445 

"  Elegiac  Verses  in  Memory  of  my  Brother,"  "  Wiien  to  the  attractions 
of  the  busy  world,"  "  The  Brothers,"  and  ''  The  Happy  Warrior."  The 
Wordsworth  Society  in  1881  erected  a  small  memorial  to  John  Words- 
worth at  the  spot  close  to  Grisedale  Tarn,  where  he  last  parted  from 
William  Wordsworth  on  Michaelmas  Day,  iSoo. 

Wordsworth's  friend  Sir  George  H.  Beaumont,  the  landscape  painter, 
painted  two  pictures  of  Peele  Castle,  one  of  which  was  intended  for 
Mrs.  Wordsworth.  An  engraving  is  given  in  Wordsworth's  Poems, 
ed.  181 5,  vol.  II,  and  again  in  1820,  vol.  IV.  There  are  two  Peele 
Castles,  —  one  in  the  Isle  of  Man,  the  other,  the  subject  of  Sir  G.  Beau- 
mont's picture,  in  Lancashire,  just  south  of  Barrow-in-Furness.  The 
opening  lines  of  the  poem  refer  to  a  visit  of  four  weeks  paid  during  a 
college  summer  vacation  by  Wordsworth  to  his  cousin  Mrs.  Barker, 
who  lived  at  Rampside,  the  nearest  village  on  the  mainland  to  Peele 
Castle.  There  is  no  evidence  to  connect  picture  or  poem  with  the 
castle  in  the  Isle  of  Man. 

14-16.  In  an  unhappy  moment  Wordsworth  altered  this — the 
original  reading,  to  which  he  reverted  in   1832  —  for  the   1820  edition. 

which  has 

.  .  .  and  add  a  gleam 
Of  lustre,  known  to  neither  sea  nor  land. 
But  borrowed  from  the  youthful  Poet's  dream, 

which  was  retained  in  1827  with  the  change,  "  the  gleam,"  "  The  lustre." 
The  reader  should  not  overlook  the  comma  after  "  was  "  in  1.  15;  the 
ideal  light  never  existed,  except  as  conferred  by  the  imagination. 

21,  22.  In  1807  and  1815  the  reading  was  "  a  treasure-house,  a  mine 
Of  peaceful  years."  It  seems  as  if  Wordsworth  thought  it  forced  to 
call  the  castle  "  a  mine  of  peaceful  years,"  for  he  omitted  the  stanza 
(11.  21-24)  from  the  ed.  of  1820,  and  only  restored  it,  with  the  present 
altered  reading,  in  1845. 

29.     Illusion:  in  1807,  "delusion." 

32.     Before  1837  :  "A  faith,  a  trust  that  could  not  be  betray'd." 

33-36.  Compare  this  stanza  with  the  close  of  the  "  Ode  :  Intima- 
tions of  Immortality." 

54.     The  Kind,  our  human  species. 


THE   HAPPY    WARRIOR. 

Written  early  in  1806  and  published  in  1S07.  Some  of  the  features 
of  "  The  Happy  Warrior"  were  derived  from  the  character  of  Nelson, 
and  with  Nelson  the  poem  was  connected  in  a  note  of  1S07 ;  but  Nelson's 


446  NOTES. 

relations  with  Lady  Hamilton  prevented  Wordsworth  from  "  thinking 
of  him  with  satisfaction  in  reference  to  the  idea  of  what  a  warrior 
ought  to  be."  Other  features  were  taken  from  Wordsworth's  brother 
John,  who  in  1805  was  drowned  when  the  ship  which  he  commanded, 
an  East  Indiaman,  sank  off  the  Bill  of  Portland. 

Observe  the  evolution  of  the  idea.  The  poem  begins  with  boyhood, 
and  that  continuity  of  life,  from  childhood  unto  maturity,  on  which 
Wordsworth  so  often  dwells  ;  it  closes  with  perseverance  and  progress 
to  the  end,  and  a  death  of  faith,  —  faith  in  good  and  in  heaven.  The 
characteristics  insisted  on  are  high  aims,  cultivation  of  the  intellect, 
moral  rectitude,  the  power  to  educe  good  from  evil,  tenderness,  placa- 
bility, purity,  fortitude,  obedience  to  the  law  of  reason,  the  choice  of 
right  means  as  well  as  right  ends,  fidehty,  joy  in  domestic  pleasures, 
heroism  in  great  crises  of  life.  ''This  short  poem,"  says  Myers,  "is  in 
itself  a  manual  of  greatness  ;  there  is  a  Roman  majesty  in  its  simple 
and  weighty  speech." 

When  Harriet  Martineau  told  Wordsworth  that  it  was  Channing's 
favourite  among  his  poems,  he  replied  :  "  Ay,  that  was  not  on  account 
of  the  poetic  conditions  being  best  fulfilled  in  that  poem,  but  because  it 
is  (solemnly)  a  chain  of  extremely  valooable  thoughts." 

5.  Boyish  thought  in  1845  replaced  "childish  thought,"  "child- 
ish "  having  an  ambiguous  meaning. 

33.  Until  1837  :  "  He  fixes  good  on  good  alone,  and  owes."  To  fix 
good  on  good  alone  may  not  always  be  possible,  Wordsworth  felt,  still 
the  effort  should  be  made. 

75,  76.  In  1807  Wordsworth  quoted  as  Chaucer's  lines  from  The 
Flowre  and  the  Leafe : 

For  Knightes  ever  should  be  persevering 
To  seek  honour  without  feintise  or  slouth 
Fro  wele  to  better  in  all  manner  thing. 

79.  In  1807  :  "Or  he  must  go  to  dust  without  his  fame";  in  1837  : 
"  Or  he  must  fall  and  sleep  without  his  fame."  The  present  reading 
dates  from  1840. 

A    COMPLAINT. 

Written  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  in  1806;  published  in  1807.  The 
text  is  unchanged,  except  1.  9  where  "  that "  in  1836  replaced  "  this." 
"  Suggested,"  Wordsworth  says,  "  by  a  change  in  the  manner  of  a 
friend."     Perhaps  the  friend  was  S.  T.  Coleridge. 


NOTES. 


STRAY    PLEASURES. 


447 


Dated  by  Wordsworth  1806;  first  published  in  1807.  In  the  Fen- 
wick  note  Wordsworth  says:  "Suggested  on  the  Thames  by  the  sight 
of  one  of  those  floating  mills  that  used  to  be  seen  there.  This  I  noticed 
on  the  Surrey  side  between  Somerset  House  and  Blackfriars'  Bridge. 
Charles  Lamb  was  with  me  at  the  time  ;  and  I  thought  it  remarkable 
that  I  should  have  to  point  out  to  him,  an  idolatrous  Londoner,  a  sight 
so  interesting  as  the  happy  group  dancing  on  the  platform."  The 
changes  of  text  are  so  unimportant  as  not  to  need  recording. 

The  London  surroundings  are  excluded  from  the  poem,  or  are 
reduced  to  the  one  particular  of  "  the  spires,"  illumined  by  the  setting 
sun  ;  the  imagination  is  concentrated  on  the  three  dancing  figures. 
The  idea  of  freedom  in  a  voluntary  captivity  (11.  3,  17)  is  a  favourite 
one  with  Wordsworth;  compare  the  sonnet  "  Nuns  fret  not"  (p.  322). 

De  Quincey  ("  On  Wordsworth's  Poetry  ")  says  he  had  heard  a  com- 
plaint that  in  this  poem,  which  has  for  its  very  subject  the  universal  and 
gratuitous  diffusion  of  joy,  occurs  a  picture  of  overpowering  melancholy 
—  "  In  sight  of  the  spires,"  etc.  "  Undoubtedly,"  he  writes,  "  there  is 
(and  without  ground  for  complaint  there  is)  even  here,  where  the  spirit 
of  gaiety  is  professedly  invoked,  an  oblique  though  evanescent  image 
flashed  upon  us  of  a  sadness  that  lies  deep  behind  the  laughing  figures, 
and  of  a  solitude  that  is  the  real  possessor  in  fee  of  all  things,  but  is 
waiting  an  hour  or  so  for  the  dispossession  of  the  dancing  men  and 
maidens  who  for  that  transitory  hour  are  the  true,  but  alas  !  the  fugitive 
tenants." 

The  kissing  leaves  of  1.  34  were  perhaps  suggested  by  lines  in  Dray- 
ton's "The  Muse's  Elysium." 

POWER    OF    MUSIC. 

Written  in  1806  and  published  in  1807.  "Taken  from  life,"  says 
Wordsworth.  In  April,  1806,  he  went  to  London,  and  there  spent  two 
months. 

3.  The  stately  Pantheon,  a  building  in  Oxford  Street,  formerly 
a  concert  hall,  theatre,  bazaar. 

15.  Dusky-browed  replaced  in  181 5  "dusky-faced,"  "face"  also 
occurring  in  the  line. 

37.  Mark  that  Cripple:  before  1827,  "There's  a  Cripple,"  and,  at 
the  same  time,  in  1.  39,  "  That  Mother  "  replaced  "  A  Mother." 


448  ATOTES. 

It  may  be  noted  that  Wordsworth,  though  his  ear  was  most  finely 
organised  for  apprehending  the  sounds  of  nature,  was  himself  deficient 
in  a  feeling  for  music.     See  notes  on  "  Star-Gazers." 


STAR-GAZERS. 

Written  in  1806  and  published  in  1807.  "  Observed  by  me  in  Leices- 
ter Square  [London]  as  here  described,"  says  Wordsworth.  This 
poem  may  be  viewed  as  a  companion  piece  to  "  Power  of  Music";  both 
poems  are  derived  from  London  street-gatherings  ;  one,  a  poem  of  the 
art  of  the  people,  and  inspired  by  joy;  the  other,  of  popular  science, 
and  touched  with  the  sadness  of  knowledge.  Both  poems,  as  well  as 
"  Stray  Pleasures,"  doubtless  belong  to  Wordsworth's  visit  to  London 
in  the  spring  of  1806.  A  MS.  copy  of  "  Star-Gazers,"  sent  by  Dorothy 
Wordsworth  to  Lady  Beaumont,  Nov.  14,  1806,  is  printed  in  "  Memo- 
rials of  Coleorton,"  vol.  I,  pp.  178-180.  The  variations  shown  by  this 
MS.  copy  are  unimportant,  except  that  the  sixth  and  seventh  stanzas, 
as  printed  in  the  text,  appear  in  a  reverse  order  in  the  MS.,  and  that 
1.  21  runs  "  Or  is  it  —  last  unwelcome  thought !  — that  these  spectators 
rude,"  and  1.  24,  "  Xot  to  be  lifted  up  at  once  to  power  and  majesty.'" 

8.  And  envies  him  that's  looking.  In  1840  this  reading  was 
restored  from  editions  before  1827.  From  1827-36  :  "  Impatient  till 
his  moment  comes  "  ["come,"  1836]. 

16.  Before  1827  :  "  Do  they  betray  us  when  they're  seen  .'  and  are 
they  but  a  dream  ?  "  The  moon,  being  personified,  rightly  becomes  the 
betrayer. 


"  YES,  IT  WAS  THE  MOUNTAIN  ECHO." 

Written  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  in  1806;  published  in  1807.  "The 
echo  came  from  Nal>Scar,"  says  Wordsworth,  "  when  I  was  walking 
on  the  opposite  side  of  Rydal  Mere.  .  .  .  On  my  return  from  my  walk 
I  recited  these  verses  to  Mrs.   Wordsworth." 

1-4.     Before  1827  : 

Ves !  full  surely  't  was  the  Echo 
Solitary,  clear,  profound, 
Answering  to  Thee,  shouting  Cuckoo, 
Giving  to  thee  ."^ound  for  Sound: 


NOTES.  449 

5,  6.  A  stanza,  judiciously  omitted  in  all  editions  after  1807,  origi- 
nally followed  stanza  i,  and  the  present  11.  5,  6  stood  differently : 

Whence  the  Voice  ?  from  air  or  earth? 
This  the  Cuckoo  cannot  tell; 
But  a  startling  sound  had  birth. 
As  the  Bird  must  know  full  well. 

Like  the  voice  through  earth  and  sky 
By  the  restless  Cuckoo  sent ; 

The  change  was  made  in  1S15. 

17-19.     This  stanza  attained  its  present  form  in  1836.     In  1807  : 

Such  within  ourselves  we  hear  ' 

Oft-times,  ours  though  sent  from  far  ; 
Listen,  ponder,  hold  them  dear  ; 

In  1827  the  idea  that  the  echoes  are  heard  within  us  was  dropped,  and 
the  lines  became  : 

Such  rebounds  our  inward  ear 
Often  catches  from  afar ;  — 
Giddy  Mortals  !  hold  them  dear; 

In  1832  "  Listen,  ponder,  hold  them  dear  "  was  happily  restored,  and 
the  two  other  lines  were  changed  from  a  statement  to  a  warning  : 

Often  as  thy  inward  ear 

Catches  such  reboynds,  beware  — 

"  The  word  rebounds"  Wordsworth  wrote  to  Barron  Field,  "  I  wish 
much  to  introduce  here ;  for  the  imaginative  warning  turns  upon  the 
echo,  which  ought  to  be  revived  as  near  the  conclusion  as  possible." 

The  word  "too"  in  1.  13  occurring  after  "two"  in  1.  12  is  a  fault 
which  it  is  strange  that  Wordsworth  did  not  remove;  to  the  ear  it  comes 
with  a  momentary  ambiguity. 


PERSONAL  TALK. 

The  date  of  this  poem  is  uncertain  ;  it  lies  between  1802  and  1S07, 
the  date  of  publication.  The  stanzas  are  in  fact  sonnets,  and  from 
1820  to  1843  "Personal  Talk"was  placed  among  the  "  Miscellaneous 
Sonnets";  afterwards,  as  in  181 5,  among  "Poems  of  Sentiment  and 
Reflection  " 


45° 


NOTES. 


3.  Of  friends :  in  1807  (only),  "  About  friends,"  which  was  metri- 
cally a  fault. 

7.     Forms  with  chalk,  i.e.,  to  guide  the  dancers. 

12.  Wordsworth  says  {Fenwic/c  note)  :  "  The  last  line  but  two  stood, 
at  first  [i.e.,  in  1S07,  only],  better  and  more  characteristically  thus  : 
'  By  my  half-kitchen  my  half-parlour  fire.'  My  Sister  and  I  were  in  the 
habit  of  having  the  tea-kettle  in  our  little  sitting-room  [i.e.,  in  Dove 
Cottage,  Grasmere  where  this  poem  was  written],  and  we  toasted  the 
bread  ourselves." 

37-40.     Before  1827  : 

There  do  I  find  a  never-failing  store 
Of  personal  themes,  and  such  as  I  love  best ; 
Matter  wherein  right  voluble  I  am  ; 
Two  will  I  mention,  dearer  than  the  rest ; 

41.  Wordsworth  pronounced  "Othello,"  Plato's  record  of  the  last 
scenes  of  the  career  of  Socrates  (the  "  Apology"),  and  Walton's  "  Life 
of  George  Herbert  "  the    most  pathetic  of  human  compositions. 

42.  Spenser's  "  Faerie  Queene,"  Bk.  i. 

51-54.  These  lines  were  inscribed,  at  the  suggestion  of  Principal 
Shairp  to  Dean  Stanley,  under  the  statue  of  Wordsworth  in  West- 
minster Abbey. 

LINES,  etc.  ("  Loud  is  the  Vale  !  "). 

Written  in  1806  and  published  in  1807.  Fox,  the  eminent  statesman, 
died  on  Sept.  13,  1806.  The  text  is  unchanged  except  1.  19,  which 
before  1837  was  "  But  when  the  Mighty  pass  away." 

Wordsworth  ardently  admired  Fox,  though  at  a  later  date  (1812),  in 
conversation,  he  denied  to  Fox  the  higher  qualities  of  mind,  —  philos- 
ophy and  religion  (H.  Crabb  Robinson's  "Diary").  In  January,  1801, 
Wordsworth  sent  Fox  a  copy  of  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  calling  his  attention 
in  particular  to  "Michael"  and  "  The  Brothers."  "In  common  with 
the  whole  of  the  EngHsh  people,"  he  wrote,  "  I  have  observed  in  your 
public  character  a  constant  predominance  of  sensibility  of  heart." 
Fox's  habit  of  regarding  men  not  merely  in  classes  but  as  individuals 
made  him,  says  Wordsworth,  dear  to  poets ;  "  and  I  am  sure  that  if, 
since  your  first  entrance  into  public  life,  there  has  been  a  single  true 
poet  living  in  England,  he  must  have  loved  you."  Fox's  reply  is  not 
very  discriminating  as  regards  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads."  He  did  not  care 
for  "  Michael  "  or  "  The  Brothers  "  because  he  was  "  no  great  friend  to 


NOTES. 


451 


blank  verse  for  subjects  which  are  to  be  treated  of  with  siinplicity." 
The  poems  which  gave  him  greatest  pleasure  were  "  Harry  Gill,"  "  We 
are  Seven,"  "  The  Mad  Mother,"  and  "  The  Idiot  Boy."  Compare 
Scott's  eulogy  of  Fox  in  the  poetical  Introduction  to  the  first  Canto  of 
"  Marmion." 


ODE  :  INTIMATIONS  OF  IMMORTALITY. 

Composed  at  Town-end,  Grasmere,  and  dated  by  Wordsworth 
1803-6;  published  in  1807.  Perhaps  the  date  should  be  1802-6. 
Dorothy  W^ordsworth  writes  in  her  Journal,  Mar.  27,  1802  :  "A  divine 
morning.  At  breakfast  William  wrote  part  of  an  Ode  "  ;  on  the  pre- 
ceding day  he  had  written  "  The  Rainbow  "  ("  My  heart  leaps  up  "),  and 
worked  at  "  The  Cuckoo,"  which  are  in  idea  so  closely  connected  with 
the  "  Ode."  On  June  17,  1802  :  "  William  added  a  little  to  the  Ode  he 
is  writing."  In  arranging  his  poems  (1815)  Wordsworth  placed  "My 
heart  leaps  up  "  first  and  the  "  Ode  "  last,  thus  rounding  his  work  with 
the  thought  of  the  "  celestial  light  "  present  in  childhood,  and  the  hope 
of  immortality.  In  181 5  he  replaced  the  earlier  motto  of  the  "  Ode," 
"  Paulo  majora  canamus,"  by  words  of  his  own  from  "  My  heart  leaps 
up."  "  Two  years  at  least,"  Wordsworth  says,  "  passed  between  the 
writing  of  the  four  first  stanzas  and  the  remaining  part."  Before  the 
poem  was  complete  he  had  lost  his  brother  John.  "  Nothing,"  he 
says,  "  was  more  difficult  for  me  in  childhood  than  to  admit  the  notion 
of  death  as  a  state  applicable  to  my  own  being.  ...  It  was  not  so 
much  from  feelings  of  animal  vivacity  that  wj-  difficulty  came  as 
from  a  sense  of  the  indomitableness  of  the  Spirit  within  me.  I  used 
to  brood  over  the  stories  of  Enoch  and  Elijah,  and  almost  to  persuade 
myself  that,  whatever  might  become  of  others,  I  should  be  translated, 
in  something  of  the  same  way,  to  heaven.  With  a  feeling  congenial  to 
this  I  was  often  unable  to  think  of  external  things  as  having  external 
existence,  and  I  communed  with  all  that  I  saw  as  something  not  apart 
from,  but  inherent  in,  my  own  immaterial  nature.  Many  times  when 
going  to  school  have  I  grasped  at  a  wall  or  tree  to  recall  myself  from 
this  abyss  of  ideahsm  to  the  reality.  In  later  periods  of  life  I  have 
deplored,  as  we  have  all  reason  to  do,  a  subjugation  of  an  opposite 
character,  and  have  rejoiced  over  the  remembrances,  as  is  expressed  in 

the  lines  — 

Obstinate  questionings 
Of  sense  and  outward  tilings, 
Fallings  from  us,  v.misliings." 


452 


NOTES. 


As  to  the  doctrine  of  a  prenatal  state,  Wordsworth  protests  against 
it  being  supposed  that  he  would  inculcate  such  a  belief  :  "  It  is  far  too 
shadowy  a  notion  to  be  recommended  to  faith,  as  more  than  an  ele- 
ment in  our  instincts  of  immortality."  He  maintains,  however,  that 
the  notion  has  sufficient  ground  in  humanity  to  authorise  a  poet  to 
make  use  of  it  for  his  own  purpose. 

The  "  Essay  on  Epitaphs,"  given  in  Wordsworth's  notes  to  "  The 
Excursion,"  should  be  compared  with  this  "  Ode."  "  Forlorn,  "  he  there 
writes,  "  and  cut  off  from  communication  with  the  best  part  of  his 
nature,  must  that  man  be,  who  should  derive  the  sense  of  immortality, 
as  it  exists  in  the  mind  of  a  child,  from  the  same  unthinking  gaiety  or 
Uveliness  of  animal  spirits  with  which  the  lamb  in  the  meadow,  or  any 
other  irrational  creature,  is  endowed.  .  .  .  We  may  be  justified  in 
asserting  that  the  sense  of  immortality,  if  not  a  coexistent  and  twin 
birth  with  Reason,  is  among  the  earliest  of  her  offspring ;  and  we  may 
further  assert  that  from  these  conjoined,  and  under  their  countenance, 
the  human  affections  are  gradually  formed  and  opened  .out." 

Compare  also  "  The  Excursion,"  Bk.  ix  : 

Ah  !  why  in  age 
Do  we  revert  so  fondly  to  the  walks 
Of  childhood  —  but  that  there  the  soul  discerns 
The  dear  memorial  footsteps  unimpaired 
Of  her  own  native  vigours  —  thence  can  hear 
Reverberations  ;  and  a  choral  song 
Commingling  with  the  incense  that  ascends 
Undaunted  toward  the  imperishable  heavens 
From  her  own  lonely  altar  ? 

And  "The  Prelude,"  Bk.  v: 

Our  childhood  sits, 
Our  simple  childhood,  sits  upon  a  throne 
That  hath  more  power  than  all  the  elements. 
1  guess  not  what  this  tells  of  Being  past. 
Nor  what  it  augurs  of  the  life  to  come. 

An  interesting  parallel  to  the  "  Ode  "  will  be  found  in  "  The  Retreat," 
l)y  Henry  Vaughan,  a  religious  poet  of  the  17th  century.  Wordsworth 
refers  to  the  fact  that  a  doctrine  of  preexistence  was  "  an  ingredient  in 
Platonic  philosophy." 

Wordsworth's  poem  should  be  regarded  not  as  an  argument  for 
immortality,  but  as  a  record  of  feelings  which  support  the  belief.  His 
line,  "  We  feel  that  we  are  greater  than  we  know,"  expresses  part  of 


NOTES. 


453 


the  drift  of  this  poem.  It  asserts  our  essential  detachment  from  what 
is  merely  material ;  it  declares  the  dignity  of  the  spirit  of  man  from  early 
childhood  onward,  until  years  bring  "  a  faith  that  looks  through  death." 
And  at  the  same  time  it  expresses  the  deep  regard  of  a  spirit  for  the 
material  universe,  which  has  cultivated  its  affections  and  called  forth 
its  powers. 

"  Alone  in  his  time,"  says  Emerson,  "  Wordsworth  treated  the  human 
mind  well,  and  with  an  absolute  trust.  His  adherence  to  his  poetic 
creed  rested  on  real  inspirations.  The  Ode  on  Immortality  is  the  high- 
water  mark  which  the  intellect  has  reached  in  this  age."  See  on  this 
poem  Ruskin's  "Modern  Painters,"  part  III,  chap,  v,  "Of  Typical 
Beauty." 

6.     Hath  in  1S20  replaced  "  had." 

28.  The  fields  of  sleep,  Professor  Hales  explains  :  "  The  yet  repose- 
ful slumbering  country  side."  But  perhaps  it  merely  means  that  a  west 
wind  blows  ;  the  west,  where  the  sun  sets,  being  emblematic  of  sleep. 
Or  are  "  the  fields  of  sleep  "  those  deep  and  shadowy  parts  of  our  own 
souls  which  lie  out  of  the  view  of  consciousness  ? 

43.     Before  1837  :  "  While  the  Earth." 

45.     Culling:  before  1837,  "pulling." 

66.     This  line  is  not  rhymed. 

86.  An  interesting  alteration  :  "  Six  years'  Darhng  "  in  181 5  replaced 
"  four  years'  Darling  "  of  1807. 

103.  Wordsworth  had  in  his  mind  the  speech  of  Jacques  in  "  As 
You  Like  It,"  II,  7,  beginning  "  All  the  world  's  a  stage." 

117.     This  line  was  introduced  in  1820. 

120,  121.  In  connection  with  the  change  last  noted,  another,  the 
most  important  in  the  "  Ode,"  was  made  (in  deference  to  Coleridge's 
opinion)  in  1820.     The  following  Hnes  occurring  between   120  and  121 

were  omitted  : 

To  whom  the  grave 
Is  but  a  lonely  bed  without  the  sense  or  sight 

Of  day  or  the  warm  light, 
A  place  of  tliought  where  we  in  waiting  lie ; 

122.     In    1S15   this   reading  replaced  that   of    1807  :  "Of  untam'd 

pleasures,  on  thy  Being's  height." 

134.     Before  1827  :  "benedictions." 

I37>  138.     In  1S15  the  text  replaced  the  reading  of  1807  : 

this 
Of  Childhood,  wliether  fluttering  or  at  rest,  ,   ,  , 

'  ,  laudably 

With  new-born  hope  for  ever  in  Ins  breast  :  — 


454 


NOTES. 


143.  See  Wordsworth's  words  quoted  in  the  opening  of  the  notes 
on  this  poem. 

153.  In  1815  this  line  replaced  that  of  1807  :  "Uphold  us,  cherish 
us,  and  make." 

188.  Perhaps  to  avoid  the  repeated  "  of,"  the  words  "  Forebode  not  " 
in  1S37  replaced  "  Think  not  of." 

192.  Compare  Keats's  "  In  a  drear-nighted  December,"  of  the 
babblings  of  a  frozen  stream,  "  They  stay  their  crysidl  fretting." 

199.  A  sunset  reflection.  The  sun,  "  like  a  strong  man  going  forth 
to  his  race,"  has  now  reached  the  goal  and  won  the  palm ;  and  so  with 
the  life  of  a  man  when  death  comes. 

202,  203.  These  lines  have  been  often  quoted  as  an  illustration  of 
Wordsworth's  sensibility  to  external  nature ;  in  reality,  they  testify  to 
his  enriching  the  sentiment  of  nature  wth  feeling  derived  from  the 
heart  of  man  and  from  the  experience  of  human  life.  The  words 
"  The  meanest  flower  that  blows  "  are  appropriated  by  Scott  in  the 
Introduction  to  the  first  Canto  of  "  Marmion." 


"O  NIGHTINGALE!     THOU   SURELY  ART." 

Wordsworth  dated  this  poem  1806  and  said  that  it  was  written  at 
Town-end,  Grasmere,  where  no  nightingales  sing;  it  was  first  published 
in  1807.  Mrs.  Wordsworth  corrected  her  husband's  note,  and  stated, 
probably  correctly,  that  it  was  written  at  Coleorton,  Sir  George  Beau- 
mont's place  in  Leicestershire.  It  may  have  been  written  (from  memory 
of  the  bird's  song)  in  November  or  December,  1806.  The  text  is 
unaltered,  but  in  1S15  (only)  a  lamentable  variation,  "ebullient  heart" 
for  a  "  fiery  heart  "  in  1.  2,  appeared.  In  his  modernisation  of  "  The 
Cuckoo  and  the  Nightingale,"  Wordsworth  speaks  of  the  "  loud  riot- 
ing "  of  the  nightingale's  voice;  nothing  corresponding  is  found  in  his 
original.  In  "  The  Excursion,"  Bk.  iv,  1.  1 167,  he  speaks  of  the  "  solemn 
nightingale."  In  the  Evening  Voluntary  "  By  the  side  of  Rydal  Mere," 
he  refers  to  the  fact  that  the  bird  does  not  visit  Westmoreland.  In  the 
sonnet  "  June,  1820"  ("  Fame  tells  of  groves  ")  he  WTites  : 

For  I  have  heard  the  quire  of  Richmond  hill 

Chanting  with  indefatigable  bill 

Strains  that  recalled  to  mind  a  distant  day. 

immcr.  follow  the  poetry  of  the   nightingale   outside   of    Wordsworth 
line,  "  Wt"  us  far.     Most  lovers  of  literature  will  remember  what  has 


NOTES. 


455 


been  written  by  Milton,  by  Coleridge,  and  by  Keats.  The  latest  con- 
tribution to  this  part  of  the  poetry  of  birds  is  Mr.  Robert  Bridges's 
beautiful  lyric,  "  Nightingales." 

As  to  the  stock-dove,  Mr.  Wintringham,  in  "The  Birds  of  Words- 
worth," maintains  that  the  poet  here  and  in  "  Resolution  and  Independ- 
ence ("  Over  his  own  sweet  voice  the  stock-dove  broods  ")  confused  the 
wood-pigeon  or  ring-dove  with  the  stock-dove.  The  stock-dove's  voice 
has  been  compared,  he  says,  to  a  grunt ;  the  wood-pigeon's  is  the  sweet 
coo  rob,  coo  coo.  On  1.  13  Wordsworth  himself  comments  in  his  Preface 
to  the  ed.  of  1815:  "  His  voice  was  buried  among  trees,"  a  metaphor 
expressing  the  love  of  seclusion  by  which  this  bird  is  marked,  and  charac- 
terising its  note  as  not  partaking  of  the  shrill  and  the  piercing,  and 
therefore  more  easily  deadened  by  the  intervening  shade,  yet  a  note  so 
peculiar  and  withal  so  pleasing  that  the  breeze,  gifted  with  that  love  of 
the  sound  which  the  poet  feels,  penetrates  the  shades  in  which  it  is 
entombed  and  conveys  it  to  the  ear  of  the  listener." 


SONG  AT  THE  FEAST  OF  BROUGHAM  CASTLE. 

Composed  in  1807  at  Coleorton,  while  Wordsworth  walked  to  and 
fro  along  the  path  from  Sir  George  Beaumont's  farmhouse,  then  occu- 
pied by  the  Wordsworth  household,  to  the  Hall,  which  at  that  time 
was  building ;  published  in  the  same  year.  The  following  is  Words- 
worth's note  : 

"  Henry  Lord  Clifford,  etc.,  who  is  the  subject  of  this  Poem,  was  the 
son  of  John  Lord  Clifford,  who  was  slain  at  Towton  Field,  which  John 
Lord  Clifford,  as  is  known  to  the  reader  of  English  History,  was  the 
person  who  after  the  battle  of  Wakefield  slew,  in  the  pursuit,  the  young 
Earl  of  Rutland,  son  of  the  Duke  of  York,  who  had  fallen  in  the  battle, 
'  in  part  of  revenge  '  (say  the  Authors  of  the  History  of  Cumberland  and 
Westmoreland) ;  '  for  the  Earl's  Father  had  slain  his.'  A  deed  which 
worthily  blemished  the  author  (saith  Speed)  ;  but  who,  as  he  adds, 
'  dare  promise  anything  temperate  of  himself  in  the  heat  of  martial  fury  ? 
chiefly  when  it  was  resolved  not  to  leave  any  branch  of  the  York  line 
standing  ;  for  so  one  maketh  this  Lord  to  speak.'  This,  no  doubt,  I 
would  observe  by  the  by,  was  an  action  sufRciently  in  the  vindictive 
spirit  of  the  times,  and  yet  not  altogether  so  bad  as  represented;  'for 
the  Earl  was  no  child,  as  some  writers  would  have  him,  but  able  to  bear 
arms,  being  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age,  as  is  evident  from  this 
(say  the  Memoirs  of   the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  who   was  laudably 


450 


iV6»  TES. 


anxious  to  wipe  away,  as  far  as  could  be,  this  stigma  from  the  illustrious 
name  to  which  she  was  born),  that  he  was  the  next  Child  to  Kinj:; 
Edward  the  Fourth,  which  his  mother  had  by  Richard  Duke  of  York, 
and  that  king  was  then  eighteen  years  of  age  :  and  for  the  small  distance 
betwixt  her  children,  see  Austin  Vincent,  in  his  Book  of  Nobility,  p. 
622,  where  he  writes  of  them  all.'  It  may  further  be  observed,  that 
Lord  Clifford,  who  was  then  himself  only  twenty-five  years  of  age,  had 
been  a  leading  man  and  commander  two  or  three  years  together  in  the 
army  of  Lancaster,  before  this  time  ;  and,  therefore,  would  be  less 
likely  to  think  that  the  Earl  of  Rutland  might  be  entitled  to  mercy  from 
his  youth.  —  But,  independent  of  this  act,  at  best  a  cruel  and  savage 
one,  the  Family  of  Clifford  had  done  enough  to  draw  upon  them  the 
vehement  hatred  of  the  House  of  York ;  so  that  after  the  Battle  of 
Towton  there  was  no  hope  for  them  but  in  flight  and  concealment. 
Henry,  the  subject  of  the  Poem,  was  deprived  of  his  estate  and  honours 
during  the  space  of  twenty-four  years  ;  all  which  time  he  lived  as  a 
shepherd  in  Yorkshire,  or  in  Cumberland,  where  the  estate  of  his  Father- 
in-law  (Sir  Lancelot  Threlkeld)  lay.  He  was  restored  to  his  estate  and 
honours  in  the  first  year  of  Henry  the  Seventh.  It  is  recorded  that, 
'  when  called  to  Parliament,  he  behaved  nobly  and  wisely ;  but  other- 
wise came  seldom  to  London  or  the  Court ;  and  rather  delighted  to  live 
in  the  country,  where  he  repaired  several  of  his  Castles,  which  had  gone 
to  decay  during  the  late  troubles.'  Thus  far  is  chiefly  collected  from 
Nicholson  and  Burn ;  and  I  can  add,  from  my  own  knowledge,  that 
there  is  a  tradition  current  in  the  village  of  Threlkeld  and  its  neighbour- 
hood, his  principal  retreat,  that  in  the  course  of  his  shepherd-life  he  had 
acquired  great  astronomical  knowledge.  I  cannot  conclude  this  note 
without  adding  a  word  upon  the  subject  of  those  numerous  and  noble 
feudal  Edifices,  spoken  of  in  tlie  Poem,  the  ruins  of  some  of  which  are, 
at  this  day,  so  great  an  ornament  to  that  interesting  country.  The 
Cliffords  had  always  been  distinguished  for  an  honourable  pride  in  these 
Castles  ;  and  we  have  seen  that,  after  the  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster, 
they  were  rebuilt ;  in  the  civil  wars  of  Charles  the  First  they  were  again 
laid  waste,  and  again  restored  almost  to  their  former  magnificence  by 
the  celebrated  Lady  Anne  Clifford,  Countess  of  Pembroke,  etc.  Not 
more  than  twenty-five  years  after  this  was  done,  when  the  estates  of 
Clifford  had  passed  into  the  Family  of  Tufton,  three  of  these  Castles, 
namely,  Brough,  Pirougham,  and  Pendragon,  were  demolished,  and  the 
timber  and  other  materials  sold  by  Thomas  Earl  of  Thanet.  We  will 
hope  that,  when  this  order  was  issued,  the  Earl  had  not  consulted  the 
text  of  Isaiah,  5Sth  chap.  12th  verse,  to  which  the  inscription  placed 


NOTES. 


457 


over  the  gate  of  Pendragon  Castle  by  the  Countess  of  Pembroke  (1 
believe  his  Grandmother),  at  the  time  she  repaired  that  structure,  refers 
the  reader :  'And  they  that  shall  be  of  thee  shall  build  the  old  waste 
places :  thoit  shall  raise  up  the  foundations  of  many  generations ;  and 
thou  shall  be  called,  The  repairer  of  the  breach.  The  restorer  of  paths  to 
dwell  in.'  The  Earl  of  Thanet,  the  present  possessor  of  the  Estates, 
with  a  due  respect  for  the  memory  of  his  ancestors,  and  a  proper  sense 
of  the  value  and  beauty  of  these  remains  of  antiquity,  has  (I  am  told) 
given  orders  that  they  shall  be  preserved  from  all  depredations." 

I.  The  ruins  of  Brougham  Castle  stand  on  a  hill  near  the  junction 
of  the  rivers  Esmont  and  Lowther,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Penrith. 

7.     Thirty  years,  i.e.,  of  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  1455-85. 

II.  Alludes  to  the  marriage  of  Henry  VII  to  Elizabeth  of  York. 
27.     "  This  line  is  from  'The  Battle  of  Bosworth  Field  '  by  Sir  John 

Beaumont  (brother  of  the  dramatist),  whose  poems  are  written  with 
much  spirit,  elegance,  and  harmony,  and  have  deservedly  been  reprinted 
lately  in  Chalmers's  Collection  of  English  Poets."  —  Wordsworth's  note. 
At  Bosworth  battle  Richard  III  was  slain. 

36.  Skipton,  a  market  town  in  the  West  Riding  of  Yorkshire.  Its 
castle  was  "  deserted  "  while  the  shepherd-lord  was  in  concealment. 

37.  Before  1845  '•  "Though  she  is  but  a  lonely  Tower"  ;  altered, 
probably,  to  vary  from  1.  49.     Before  1827  two  lines  followed  : 

Silent,  deserted  of  her  best. 
Without  an  Inmate  or  a  Guest  — 

Altered  in  1827  to  the  following  : 

To  vacancy  and  silence  left ; 
Of  all  her  guardian  sons  bereft  — 
and  omitted  in  1845. 

40.  Pendragon,  a  border  fortress  in  the  hands  of  the  Cliffords, 
situated  on  the  river  Eden,  ten  miles  southeast  of  Appleby.  It  took 
its  name  from  Uther  Pendragon,  the  father  of  King  Arthur,  its  fabled 
founder. 

44.  Brough,  the  castle  of  Brough  or  Burgh-under-Stainmore, 
County  Westmoreland,  eight  miles  southeast  of  Appleby,  also  belonging 
to  the  Cliffords. 

46.     Appleby  Castle  is  meant  ;  the  river  Eden  runs  by  Appleby. 

51.     One  fair  house.  Brougham  Castle. 

54.     The  "  shepherd-lord  "  and  his  mother. 

73.  Carrock's  side.  "  Carrock-fell  is  three  miles  southwest  from 
Castle  Sowerby  in  Cumberland."  —  Knight. 


45^ 


NOTES. 


89.     Mosedale's  groves,  to  the  north  of  Blencathara,  or  Saddleback. 

92.  Glenderamakin's  lofty  springs  :  this  river  "  rises  in  the  lofty 
ground  to  the  north  of  Blencathara." 

95.  Sir  Lancelot  Threlkeld.  See  Wordsworth's  note,  and  compare 
"The  Waggoner,"  canto  iv,  11. 42-56,  where  the  shepherd-lord  is  spoken  of. 

116,  117.     Before  1845  ^o^"^  lines  : 

Yet  lacks  not  friends  for  solemn  ["simple,"  1S45]  glee, 
And  a  cheerful  ["  A  spirit-soothing,"  1836]  company, 
That  learn'd  of  him  submissive  ways; 
And  comforted  his  private  days. 

122,  123.  "  It  is  imagined  by  the  people  of  the  country  that  there 
are  two  immortal  fish,  inhabitants  of  this  tarn,  which  lies  in  the  moun- 
tains not  far  from  Threlkeld.  Blencathara,  mentioned  before,  is  the 
old  and  proper  name  of  the  mountain  vulgarly  called  Saddle-back."  — 
Wordsworth's  note. 

126-137.  Several  lines  here  were  made  more  syllabically  regular  in 
1836,  perhaps  with  a  loss  of  metrical  beauty.     The  earlier  readings  are  : 

126,  127: 

They  moved  about  in  open  sight 
To  and  fro,  for  his  delight. 

129.     "  On  the  mountains  visitant." 

131.     "  And  the  caves  where  Faeries  sing." 

135.  "  Face  of  thing  that  is  to  be." 

136,  137.     From  1807  to  1820: 

And,  if  ["  if  that,"  1836]  Men  report  him  right, 
He  can  ["could,"  1S27-36]  whisper  words  of  might 

The  present  text  dates  from  1840. 

142,  143.  "  The  martial  character  of  the  Cliffords  is  well  known  to 
the  readers  of  English  history ;  but  it  may  not  be  improper  here  to  say, 
by  way  of  comment  on  these  lines  and  what  follows,  that  besides  several 
others  who  perished  in  the  same  manner,  the  four  immediate  progenitors 
of  the  person  in  whose  hearing  this  is  supposed  to  be  spoken  all  died 
in  the  field."  —  Wordsworth's  note. 

157-159-     Before  1845  '■ 

Alas  !  the  fervent  Harper  did  not  know 
That  for  a  tranquil  Soul  the  Lay  was  framed, 
Who,  long  compelled  in  humble  walks  to  go, 


NOTES. 


459 


The  religious  spirit  is  characteristic  of  other  changes  made  in  the  revi- 
sion of  1845. 

171.  When  nearly  sixty  years  old  the  good  Lord  Clifford  fought  at 
Flodden.  He  died  in  1523,  and  was  buried  in  the  choir  of  Bolton 
Priory. 

The  feudal  and  chivalric  spirit  of  this  poem  is  remarkable,  but  it 
would  hardly  be  characteristic  of  Wordsworth  if  this  were  the  predomi- 
nant note.  Its  peculiar  virtue  resides  especially  in  the  stanza  which 
tells  of  the  love  of  humanity  gained  in  the  cottage  and  the  teaching  of 
nature  among  the  lonely  hills,  —  that  beginning  "Love  had  he  found 
in  huts  where  poor  men  lie." 


THE   FORCE   OF   PRAYER. 

In  its  first  form  the  poem  was  written  in  1807  ;  it  was  recast  in  1808, 
and  was  published  with  "The  White  Doe  of  Rylstone  "  in  1815.  On 
Oct.  18,  1807,  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  that  "about  a  month  ago" 
her  brother  composed  a  poem  on  "  the  story  of  young  Romelli  and  the 
Strid."  This  earliest  form  remained  in  MS.  until  it  was  printed  by 
Professor  Knight  ("  Poet.  W^orks,"  IV,  205,  206).  The  opening  stanzas 
differ  more  than  the  others  from  the  text  of  Wordsworth,  and  may  here 

be  given : 

"  What  is  good  for  a  bootless  bene?" 
The  Lady  answered,  "  endless  sorrow." 
Her  words  are  plain  ;  but  the  Falconer's  words 
Are  a  path  that  is  dark  to  travel  thorough. 

These  words  I  bring  from  the  Banks  of  Wharf, 
Dark  words  to  front  an  ancient  tale : 
And  their  meaning  is,  whence  can  comfort  spring 
When  prayer  is  of  no  avail  ? 

"  What  is  good  for  a  bootless  bene  1 " 
The  Falconer  to  the  Lady  said, 
And  she  made  answer  as  ye  have  heard, 
For  she  knew  that  her  Son  was  dead. 

Wordsworth  calls  the  poem  "  an  appendage  to  '  The  White  Doe.' "  It 
is  so  in  idea  —  that  of  pious  dealing  with  personal  grief  ;  it  is  so  also 
through  its  connection  with  Bolton  Abbey.  He  found  the  story  in 
Whitaker's  "  History  of  Craven."  Bolton  Abbey,  Yorkshire,  stands 
upon  a  beautiful  bend  of  the  Wharfe.  Not  far  from  the  Abbey  the 
Wharfe  rushes  through  a  deep  rift  in  the  rock,  called  the  Strid.     Here 


460  NOTES. 

"  the  boy  of  Egremond  "  was  drowned.  The  Priory,  originally  founded 
at  Embsay,  a  village  about  four  miles  distant,  by  William  de  Meschines 
and  his  wife  in  H2I,  was  removed  to  Bolton  a  little  after  1150  by  their 
daughter  Adeliza,  mother  of  young  Romilly.  Rogers  has  written  a 
poem,  "The  Boy  of  Egremond,"  on  the  same  subject,  beginning  : 

"  Say,  what  remains  when  Hope  is  fled  ? " 
She  answered,  "  Endless  weeping !" 
For,  in  the  herds-man's  eye  she  read 
Who  in  his  shroud  lay  sleeping. 

I.  Bootless  bene,  profitless  prayer.  Old  English  (5/«,  perhaps  from 
root  ba,  cry. 

40.     Yarrow.     See  notes  on  "  Yarrow  Unvisited,"  p.  433. 

The  variations  of  text  are  trivial;  they  include  certain  differences 
between  two  texts  of  1815,  —  that  in  "  The  White  Doe"  volume  and  in 
"  Poems." 

The  spirit  of  this  poem  is  expressed  in  the  following  lines  of  "  The 

Excursion  "  : 

The  darts  of  anguishyf^r  not  where  the  seat 
Of  suffering  hath  been  thoroughly  fortified 
By  acquiescence  in  the  Will  supreme 
For  time  and  for  eternity. 

Lamb  in  181 5  wrote  to  Wordsworth  with  a  generous  extravagance  : 
"  I  never  saw  parental  love  carried  up  so  high,  towering  above  the  other 
loves.  Shakespeare  had  done  something  for  the  filial  in  Cordelia,  and, 
by  implication,  for  the  fatherly,  too,  in  Lear's  resentment ;  he  left  it  for 
you  to  explore  the  depths  of  the  maternal  heart."  "  Letters  of  Lamb," 
ed.  Ainger,  vol.  I,  p.  288. 

CHARACTERISTICS    OF    A    CHILD    THREE   YEARS    OLD. 

Written  at  Allanbank,  Grasmere,  in  181 1  ;  published  in  181 5.  The 
text  is  unchanged.  The  child  was  Wordsworth's  daughter  Catherine, 
who  died  the  year  after.     See  the  sonnet  "  Surprised  with  joy." 

SOURCES    OF   SPIRITUAL    STRENGTH. 

[From  "  The  Excursion,"  Bk.  iv.] 

It  is  not  possible  to  fix  precisely  the  date  at  which  the  fourth  book 
of  "  The  Excursion "  was  written.  Much  of  the  poem  belongs  to 
Wordsworth's  residence  at  Allanbank,  1808-11. 


NOTES.  461 


GREEK   DIVINITIES. 

[From  "  The  Excursion,"  Bk.  iv.] 
See  note  on  preceding  extract. 

THE    SEA-SHELL. 

[From  "The  Excursion,"  Bk.  iv.] 

Wordsworth  was  supposed  by  some  —  with  no  foundation,  in  fact  — 
to  have  taken  the  suggestion  of  the  sea-shell  from  Lander's  "  Gebir," 
Bk.  i.  Landor's  lines  deserve  to  be  quoted,  not  as  a  source,  but  as  a 
parallel.     The  sea-nymph  speaks  : 

But  I  have  sinuous  shells  of  pearly  hue 

Within,  and  they  that  lustre  have  imbibed 

In  the  sun's  palace-porch,  where  when  unyoked 

His  chariot-wheel  stands  midway  in  the  wave : 

Shake  one  and  it  awakens,  then  apply 

Its  pohsht  hps  to  your  attentive  ear, 

And  it  remembers  its  august  abodes, 

And  murmurs  as  the  ocean  murmurs  there. 

Majestic  lines,  but  not  designed  as  an  illustration  of  spiritual  truth. 


LAODAMIA. 

Written  at  Rydal  Mount  in  1814;  published  in  1815.  About  this 
time,  1814-16,  Wordsworth's  attention  was  given  to  the  education  of  his 
elder  son,  and  he  read  again  the  principal  Latin  poets.  "  The  incident 
of  the  trees  growing  and  withering,"  he  says,  ''put  the  subject  into  my 
thoughts,  and  I  wrote  with  the  hope  of  giving  it  a  loftier  tone  than,  so 
far  as  I  know,  has  been  given  to  it  by  any  of  the  Ancients  who  have 
treated  of  it.  It  cost  me  more  trouble  than  almost  anything  of  equal 
length  I  have  ever  written."  Crabb  Robinson  says  {1815)  it  was  not 
much  esteemed  by  Wordsworth,  as  being  rather  a  poem  "founded  on 
the  affections"  than  one  of  the  imagination.  But  the  author  afterwards 
placed  it  among  "  Poems  of  the  Imagination,"  and  he  is  said  to  have 
named  "  Lycidas  "  and  "  Laodamia  "  as  "  twin-immortals."  For  Landor's 
criticism  of  the  poem,  see  the  "  Imaginary  Conversations  "  (Southey 
and  Porson). 


462  NOTES. 

As  noted  by  Wordsworth,  some  of  the  features  of  the  character  of 
Protesilaus  are  derived  from  the  "  Iphigenia  in  Aulis  "  of  Euripides  ; 
this  acknowledgment  was  made  in  ed.  18 15  in  special  connection  with 
11.  110-113.  The  thirteenth  epistle  in  Ovid's  "  Heroides  "  is  from 
Laodamia  to  Protesilaus ;  she  cautions  him  against  excess  of  intre- 
pidity. Something  of  the  conception  of  Laodamia  as  erring  through 
excess  of  passion  may  have  been  suggested  by  Ovid,  and  something  by 
the  passage  in  the  poem  of  Catullus  "  Ad  Manlium,"  which  treats  of 
Wordsworth's  heroine  : 

.  .  .  tanto  te  absorbens  vortice  amoris 
iEstus  in  abruptum  detulerat  barathrum. 

The  trees  growing  and  withering,  as  Wordsworth  tells  us,  put  the  sub- 
ject in  his  thoughts,  and  in  accordance  with  the  suggestion  the  first 
conclusion  to  the  poem  was  inspired  with  pity  for  Laodamia.  She 
receives  no  punishment  in  this  form  of  the  poem.  Lines  158-163  stood 
as  follows  in  18 15  and  1820: 

Ah,  judge  her  gently  who  so  deeply  loved ! 
Her,  who,  in  reason's  spite,  yet  without  crime, 
Was  in  a  trance  of  passion  thus  removed; 
Delivered  from  the  galling  yoke  of  time 
And  these  frail  elements  —  to  gather  flowers 
Of  blissful  quiet  'mid  unfading  bowers. 

The  ethics  of  the  poem,  however,  as  Wordsworth  reconsidered  it, 
seemed  to  require  a  different  ending,  and  in  1827  he  substituted  the 
following : 

By  no  weak  pity  might  the  Gods  be  moved ; 
She  who  thus  perished,  not  without  the  crime 
Of  Lovers  that  in  Reason's  spite  have  loved, 
Was  doomed  to  wander  in  a  grosser  clime. 
Apart  from  happy  Ghosts  —  that  gather  flowers,  etc. 

In  1831,  in  a  letter  to  his  nephew  John  Wordsworth,  he  defends  the 
alteration  :  "  As  first  written  the  heroine  was  dismissed  to  happiness  in 
Elysium.  To  what  purpose  then  the  mission  of  Protesilaus?  He 
exhorts  her  to  moderate  her  passion ;  the  exhortation  is  fruitless  and 
no  punishment  follows.  So  it  stood  :  at  present  she  is  placed  among 
unhappy  ghosts  for  disregard  of  the  exhortation.  Virgil  also  places  her 
there,  but  compare  the  two  passages  and  give  vclQ  yotir  opinion."  Next 
year,  1832,  appeared  a  new  edition  in  which  the  line  "Was  doomed  to 


NOTES.  463 

wander  in  a  grosser  clime  "  became  "  Was  doomed  to  wear  out  her 
appointed  time."     In  1840  the  stanza  opened  thus  : 

She  —  who,  though  warned,  exhorted,  and  reproved. 
Thus  died,  from  passion  desperate  to  a  crime  — 

then  proceeding  as  in  the  final  text.  In  1845  the  entire  stanza  assumed 
its  ultimate  form.  Thus,  while  Wordsworth  softened  the  harshness 
of  his  second  text,  he  never  reverted  to  the  first,  and  maintained  to  the 
end  that  the  justice  of  the  gods  required  the  punishment  of  his  heroine, 
while  yet  man  and  mortal  things  may  rightly  mourn  for  her.  Laoda- 
mia  was  "  exhorted  "  as  well  as  "  reproved  "  ;  her  error  was  not  merely 
that  she  clung  passionately  to  earthly  love,  which  was  now  forbidden  by 
divine  decree,  but  that  she  failed  to  lift  up  her  heart  to  "  a  higher 
object."  Wordsworth  justifies  excess  of  passion  (11.  145-150),  but  as  a 
means  of  education,  —  "  that  self  may  be  annulled,"  and  that  man  may 
ascend  to  a  higher  object  by  means  of  a"  mortal  yearning."  Laodamia's 
affections  were  not  to  be  crushed  out,  but  to  be  "  raised  and  solemnized  " ; 
she  was  to  seek  reunion  with  her  husband,  but  a  blest  reunion,  to  be 
won  only  through  fortitude ;  and  she  fails  in  the  test.  The  words  "  to 
wear  out  her  appointed  time  "  suggest  that  her  separation  from  Prote- 
silaus  is  not  for  ever,  that  her  state  is,  in  truth,  purgatorial. 

For  a  discussion  of  the  ethics  of  the  poem  and  an  unfavourable 
criticism  of  the  alteration  of  the  close,  see  "  Guesses  at  Truth." 

1-4.     Date  from  1827.     In  181.5  and  1820  they  stood  thus  : 

With  sacrifice  before  the  rising  morn 
Performed,  my  slaughtered  Lord  have  I  required; 
And  in  thick  darkness,  amid  shades  forlorn, 
Him  of  the  infernal  Gods  have  I  desired. 

Landor  objected  to  the  rhyme  "required,"  "desired,"  and  Wordsworth 
admitted  that  the  rhyme  was  unsatisfactory. 

Sacrifices  to  the  infernal  deities  were  made  between  midnight  and 
sunrise.     See  Virgil's  ^Eneid,  VI,  242-258. 

11.  Compare  the  description  of  Virgil's  Sibyl,  .^neid,  VI,  46  ff.  : 

.  .  .  her  heart  with  frenzy  heaves. 
And,  larger  grown,  dilating  to  the  eye,  etc. 

12.  A  MS.  copy  of  the  poem  gives  two  stanzas  intended  originally 
to  follow  this  line : 


464  NOTES. 

That  rapture  failing,  the  distracted  Queen 
Knelt  and  embraced  the  Statue  of  the  God : 
"  Mighty  the  boon  I  ask,  but  Earth  has  seen 
Effects  as  awful  from  thy  gracious  nod ; 
All-ruling  Jove,  unbind  the  mortal  chain, 
Nor  let  the  force  of  prayer  be  spent  in  vain ! " 

Round  the  high-seated  Temple  a  soft  breeze 
Along  the  columns  sighed  —  all  else  was  still  — 
Mute,  vacant  as  the  face  of  summer  seas, 
No  sign  accorded  of  a  favouring  will, 
Dejected  she  withdraws  —  her  palace-gate 
Enters  —  and,  traversing  a  room  of  state, 

0  terror,  etc. 

18,  19.  Mercury  (Hermes,  the  Greek  name)  is  the  conductor  of 
souls  ;  the  wand  with  which  he  summons  and  dismisses  souls  is  mentioned 
in  the  .^neid,  IV,  242. 

27.     Compare  the  ^Eneid,  II,  794,  and  VI,  699. 

58.  Thou  should'st  elude  replaced  in  1845  the  less  dignified  "  That 
thou  should'st  cheat." 

65.     Parcae,  the  Fates. 

68.  Replaced  in  1836  the  earlier  "  Know,  virtue  were  not  virtue  if 
the  joys." 

71.     Erebus,  a  region  of  the  lower  world. 

76.     IniSi5:  "  The  fervor  —  not 'the  impotence  of  love." 

79-81.  This  is  the  subject  of  the  "  Alcestis"  of  Euripides,  rendered 
by  R.  Browning  in  "  Balaustion's  Adventure."  Compare  Milton's  sonnet 
"  On  his  deceased  Wife." 

82.  Vernal  in  1827  replaced  "  beauty's." 

83,  84.  See  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  VII,  159-293.  ^son,  father 
of  Jason,  was  restored  to  youth  by  Medea's  art.  Compare  "  Merchant 
of  Venice,"  V,  i,  12. 

90.     This  line  and  also  1.  157  are  alexandrines. 
loi,  102.     Replaced  in  1827  the  following: 

Spake,  as  a  witness,  of  a  second  birth 
For  all  that  is  most  perfect  upon  earth. 

Landor  had  objected  to  "  witness  "  and  "second  birth  "  as  savouring  of 
the  conventicle.  Wordsworth  would  not  admit  the  objection,  but  in 
the  next  edition  he  altered  the  lines.  Compare  Virgil's  ^neid,  VI, 
637-665. 


J 


NOTES.  465 

105.     Compare  ^neid,  VI,  639  : 

Largior  hie  campos  aether  et  lumine  vestit 
Purpureo,  solemque  suum,  sua  sidera  novunt. 

1 15-120.  This  stanza  was  added  while  the  poem  was  going  through 
the  press. 

Aulis  was  a  port  in  Boeotia  where  the  Greek  fleet  was  detained  until 
Artemis  was  appeased  by  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia. 

146.  Until  1836  the  reading  was  "  Towards  a  higher  object."  In  his 
earlier  texts  Wordsworth  treats  "  towards"  as  a  dissyllable,  from  1836 
onward  as  a  monosyllable.     See  The  Academy,  Dec.  2,  1893,  p.  487. 

147.  That  end  replaced  in  1827  "  this  end,"  probably  because  "  this  " 
occurs  in  the  ne.xt  line. 

160.  "  We  think  of  Virgil's  tender  line  in  a  similar  passage  about 
Orpheus  and  Eurydice,  Georg.  IV,  488  : 

Quum  subita  incautum  dementia  cepit  amantem, 
Ignoscenda  quidem,  scirent  si  ignoscere  Manes. 

'  To  be  pardoned  indeed,  if  the  fates  knew  how  to  pardon.'  "  —  W.  A. 
Heard  (quoted  in  Knight's  "  Wordsworth  "). 

164-174.  The  metre  changes  to  distinguish  the  reflection  and  the 
narration  of  the  sequel  from  the  main  narrative. 


YARROW    VISITED  ("  And  is  this,"  etc.). 

Written  in  18 14  and  published  in  181 5.  "As  mentioned  in  my  verses 
on  the  death  of  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  "  (see  p.  304),  said  Wordsworth, 
"  my  first  visit  to  Yarrow  was  in  his  company.  We  had  lodged  the 
night  before  at  Traquhair,  where  Hogg,  had  joined  us,  and  also  Dr. 
Anderson,  the  Editor  of  the  British  Poets,  who  was  on  a  visit  to  the 
Manse.  Dr.  A.  walked  with  us  till  we  came  in  view  of  the  vale  of 
Yarrow,  and,  being  advanced  in  life,  he  then  turned  back."  Words- 
worth's wife  and  her  sister  Sara  Hutchinson  were  his  travelling  com- 
panions. "  I  seldom  read  or  think  of  this  poem,"  he  said,  "  without 
regretting  that  my  dear  sister  was  not  of  the  party,  as  she  would  have 
had  so  much  delight  in  recalling  the  time  when,  travelling  together  in 
Scotland,  we  declined  going  in  search  of  this  celebrated  stream,  not 
altogether,  I  will  frankly  confess,  for  the  reasons  assigned  in  the  poem 
on  the  occasion." 

13.     St.  Mary's  Lake.     See  notes  on  "  Yarrow  Unvisited." 


466  NOTES. 

25.  The  famous  Flower.  Principal  Shairp  in  his  "  Aspects  of 
Poetry"  ("The  Three  Yarrows")  says  that  here  Wordsworth  fell  into 
an  inaccuracy  ;  for  Mary  Scott  of  Dryhope,  the  real  "  Flower  of  Yar- 
row," never  did  lie  bleeding  on  Yarrow,  but  became  the  wife  of  Wat  of 
Harden  and  the  mother  of  a  wide-branching  race.  Yet  Wordsworth 
speaks  of  his  bed,  evidently  confounding  the  lady  "  Flower  of  Yarrow  " 
with  that  "  slaughtered  youth  "  for  whom  so  many  ballads  have  sung 
lament.  But  doubtless  Wordsworth  had  Logan's  "  Braes  of  Yarrow" 
in  his  mind,  where  the  lady  laments  her  lover  and  names  him  "  the 
flower  of  Yarrow." 

31.     The  Water-wraith  ascended  thrice,  from  Logan's  "  Braes  of 

Yarrow  " : 

Thrice  did  the  water-wraith  ascend, 

And  gave  a  doleful  groan  through  Yarrow. 

55.  Newark's  Tower,  on  the  banks  of  Yarrow,  about  three  miles 
from  Selkirk.     H.ere  Scott's  "  Last  Minstrel  "  sang  his  "  Lay  "  : 

He  pass'd  where  Newark's  stately  tower 
Looks  out  from  Yarrow's  birchen  bower. 

62-64.     These  lines  date  from  1827  ;  in  181 5  : 

It  promises  protection 

To  studious  ease  and  generous  cares, 

And  every  chaste  affection  ! 


In  1820 


To  all  the  nestling  brood  of  thoughts 
Sustained  by  chaste  affection! 


Of  this  poem  Professor  Veitch  says  ("  History  and  Poetry  of  the  Scot- 
tish Border,"  H,  316)  :  "  We  have  there  the  true  Yarrow,  the  truest 
Yarrow  that  ever  was  pictured;  real  yet  not  literal  —  Yarrow  as  it  is 
for  the  spiritual  sense  made  keen,  quick,  sensitive,  and  deep  through 
the  brooding  over  the  stories  of  the  years  and  living  communion  with 
the  heart  of  things." 

DION. 

"Dion"  is  dated  by  Wordsworth  1816;  it  was  first  published  in 
1820. 

Dion  was  a  disciple  of  Plato  when  the  philosopher  visited  Syracuse ; 
he  seems  to  have  been  naturally  austere  of  character.  When  banished 
from  Syracuse  by  political  intrigue  he  retired  to  Athens,  and  lived  in 


NOTES. 


467 


close  intercourse  with  Plato.  He  subsequently  became  master  of  Syra- 
cuse, and  put  to  death  his  chief  opponent  Heracleides.  One  of  his  fol- 
lowers, Callippus,  conspired  against  Dion,  and  caused  him  to  be 
assassinated,  B.C.  353. 

We  print,  immediately  after  the  poem,  in  accordance  with  a  sugges- 
tion of  Wordsworth's,  a  stanza  rejected  in  1837,  which  originally  opened 
"  Dion."  It  was  rejected,  Wordsworth  says,  because  it  detained  the 
reader  too  long  from  the  subject,  and  rather  precluded  than  prepared 
for  the  due  effect  of  the  allusion  to  the  genius  of  Plato. 

I,  2.     Following  until  1S37  the  rejected  stanza,  the  lines  ran  thus  : 

So  pure,  so  bright,  so  fitted  to  embrace, 
Where'er  he  turned,  a  natural  grace 

and  until  the  same  date  11.  7,  8  were  : 

Nor  less  the  homage  that  was  seen  to  wait 
On  Dion's  virtues,  when  the  lunar  beam 

Mr.  Heard  contributed  to  Knight's  edition  of  Wordsworth  notes  illus- 
trating Wordsworth's  obligations  to  Plutarch,  from  which  some  extracts 
are  here  given. 

10.  Grove  of  Academe.  The  Academus  was  the  grove  in  the  suburbs 
of  Athens  in  which  Plato  taught,  so  called  after  a  hero  Academus,  to 
whom  it  was  said  to  have  belonged. 

II.  Plutarch  writes  :  "  Plato  being  anxious  that  Dion's  disposition 
should  be  sweetened  by  mingling  with  society  of  a  pleasant  kind,  and 
not  aloof  on  proper  occasions  from  well-bred  raillery."  —  Heard. 

12,  13.  "  Arrogance,"  said  Plato,  "is  the  house-mate  of  solitude."  — 
Heard. 

19.  "  Seeing  Dion  wearing  a  garland,"  says  Plutarch,  "  on  account 
of  the  sacrifice,  those  that  were  present  with  one  impulse  put  on  gar- 
lands one  and  all."  —  Heard.   . 

20.  "  Poorly  armed,"  says  Plutarch,  "as  chance  enabled  them."  — 
Heard. 

24,  25.  "  Now  they  could  discern,"  says  Plutarch,  "  Dion  himself 
advancing  at  their  head,  clad  in  gleaming  armour  and  wearing  a  gar- 
land." —  Heard. 

28-30.  "  The  Syracusans,"  says  Plutarch,  "  receiving  them  as  a  holy 
procession  beseeming  the  Gods,  escorting  freedom  and  democracy  back 
to  the  city  after  an  exile  of  forty-seven  years."  —  Heard. 

32,  33.     Derived  from  Plutarch. 


468  NOTES. 

35-37.     In  1820  (only)  these  lines  stood: 

And,  wheresoe'er  the  great  Deliverer  passed, 
Fruits  were  strewn  before  his  eye, 
And  flowers  upon  his  person  cast. 

At  the  same  time  in  1.  39  "  doth  "  replaced  "  did." 

42.     Ilissus,  one  of  the  principal  rivers  of  Attica. 

50,  51.  In  a  celebrated  utterance  Kant,  in  like  manner,  brings 
together  the  sublimities  of  the  starry  heavens  without  and  the  moral 
law  within. 

52.     Sublime  delight.     The  word  "  sublime"  was  added  in  1837. 

65-70.  "  He  happened,"  writes  Plutarch,  "  to  be  sitting  late  in  the 
evening  in  a  corridor  of  the  house  in  solitary  meditation  :  suddenly  a 
sound  was  heard  in  the  further  end  of  the  portico,  and,  looking  up,  he 
saw  in  the  lingering  light  the  form  of  a  majestic  woman,  in  dress  and 
face  like  the  Fury  as  she  appears  in  tragedy  —  sweeping  the  house  with 
a  brush."  Mr.  Heard  notes  that  in  Plutarch  the  apparition  is  simply 
ominous  of  coming  evil ;  the  moral  significance  is  Wordsworth's 
interpretation. 

71.     Auster,  the  south  wind ;  Boreas,  in  1.  73,  the  north  wind. 

75.     Masnalus,  a  mountain  in  Arcadia. 

82.  Exclaimed  the  Chieftain  in  1827  replaced  the  earlier  "  Intrusive 
Presence  ! " 

106.  Matchless  perfidy.  Callippus,  the  friend  of  Dion,  had  taken 
a  solemn  oath  that  he  had  no  thought  of  treason. 

no.  Marble  city.  A  marble  quarry,  near  Syracuse,  added  to  the 
magnificence  of  the  city. 

115-117.  Dion  declared  "that  he  was  willing  to  die  a  thousand 
deaths  ...  if  life  were  only  to  be  had  by  guarding  against  friends  as 
well  as  foes."  —  Plutarch,  quoted  by  Heard. 

The  moral  of  "  Dion,"  that  our  means  should  be  as  spotless  as  our 
ends,  is  enforced  also  in  "  The  Happy  Warrior" : 

He  labours  good  on  good  to  fix,  and  owes 
To  virtue  every  triumph  that  he  knows. 

Lamb  wrote  to  Mrs.  Wordsworth  (May  25,  1820):  "The  story  of 
Dion  is  divine  —  the  genius  of  Plato  falling  on  him  like  moonlight  — 
the  finest  thing  ever  expressed." 


NOTES.  469 


ODE   TO    LYCORIS. 

Composed  in  front  of  Rydal  Mount  in  May,  181 7  ;  published  in  1820. 
The  poem  originated,  Wordsworth  says,  in  the  last  four  lines  of  stanza 
I :  "  Those  specks  of  snow,  reflected  in  the  lake  [the  lake  was  Ullswater] 
and  so  transferred,  as  it  were,  to  the  subaqueous  sky,  reminded  me  of 
the  swans  which  the  fancy  of  the  ancient  classic  poets  yoked  to  the  car 
of  Venus."  Wordsworth's  note  goes  on  to  tell  of  his  youthful  delight 
in  Greek  and  Roman  poetry.  In  deference,  he  says,  to  the  disgust  of 
the  general  reader  caused  by  the  hackneyed  and  lifeless  use  into  which 
mythology  fell  towards  the  close  of  the  17th  and  during  the  i8th  cen- 
tury, he  abstained  in  his  earliest  writings  from  all  introduction  of  pagan 
fable  ;  but  "  surely,  even  in  its  humble  form,  it  may  ally  itself  with  real 
sentiment,  as  I  can  truly  affirm  it  did  in  the  present  case." 

The  quantity  of  the  second  vowel  is  long  —  Lyco'ris.  This  was  the 
name  under  which  C.  Cornelius  Gallus  celebrated  in  his  lost  poems  his 
mistress  Cytharis.  See  Virgil,  Eclogue  x,  42.  In  Wordsworth's 
"  Poetical  Works,"  the  "  Ode  "  is  followed  by  a  poem  in  blank  verse 
"  To  the  Same,"  of  which  the  closing  lines  seem  to  show  that  by  Lycoris 
he  meant  either  his  sister  or  his  wife  : 

Dearest  Friend ! 
We  too  have  known  such  happy  hours  together 
That,  were  pdwer  granted  to  replace  them  (fetched 
From  out  the  pensive  shadows  where  they  lie) 
In  the  first  warmth  of  their  original  sunshine. 
Loth  should  1  be  to  use  it :  passing  sweet 
Are  the  domains  of  tender  memory  ! 

"  Thee,  thee  my  life's  celestial  sign  "  (1.  28)  seems  to  belong  of  right  to 
Mary  Wordsworth. 

14.  Halcyon,  the  kingfisher.  The  plumage  of  the  bird  is  blue, 
white,  and  purple ;  it  darts  along  the  water  "  like  a  meteor."  In  the 
next  line  Wordsworth  in  1827  changed  "  its  "  to  "  her." 

31,  32.  In  1827  Wordsworth  made  these  lines  more  special  to  early 
autumn.     Previously : 

Pleased  with  the  soil's  requited  cares  ; 
Pleased  with  the  blue  that  ether  wears ; 

37.  On  the  art  of  growing  old,  compare  Emerson's  admirable  poem 
"  Terminus." 


47° 


NOTES. 


45-48.     Before  1837  : 

Frank  greeting,  then,  to  that  blithe  Guest 
Diffusing  smiles  o'er  land  and  sea 
To  aid  the  vernal  Deity 
Whose  home  is  in  the  breast ! 

In  the  later  text  Wordsworth  admits  that  the  "Deity  of  youth"  is  no 
longer  in  the  breast. 

The  reader  should  complete  the  impression  made  by  this  poem  by 
reading  in  the  "  Poetical  Works  "  its  companion  piece,  "  To  the  Same  " ; 
he  will  find  in  this  selection  two'  poems  placed  near  "  Lycoris "  by 
Wordsworth,  "  September,  181 9,"  in  which  the  poet  does  honour  to  the 
autumn  of  the  year  and  of  human  life. 


THE   LONGEST   DAY. 

Written  in  1817  ;  published  in  1820.  It  was  suggested  by  the  sight 
of  Wordsworth's  daughter  Dora  playing  in  front  of  Rydal  Mount,  and 
in  great  part  was  composed  on  the  same  afternoon.  Wordsworth  often 
thought  of  writing  a  companion  poem  on  the  shortest  day.  After  his 
daughter's  death  her  name  was  given  in  1.  13,  displacing  the  "Laura" 
of  edd.  previous  to  1849.  (So  also  in  "The  Kitten  and  the  Fallen 
Leaves.") 

3.  In  1843  this  line  happily  replaced  the  earlier  "  Sol  has  dropped 
into  his  harbour." 

The  idea  of  the  poem  has  much  in  common  with  that  of  the  "  Qde 
to  Duty."  The  sportive  child,  in  her  thoughtless  joy,  is  one  of  the 
"  glad  hearts,  without  reproach  "  of  the  second  stanza  of  the  "  Ode  "  ; 
but  it  is  well  that  she  should  learn,  even  already,  the  deeper  lesson 
of  life.  This  poem  is  elevated  by  its  imaginative  power  into  something 
higher  than  mere  didactic  verse. 


COMPOSED    UPON   AN    EVENING    OF    EXTRAORDINARY 
SPLENDOUR   AND   BEAUTY. 

Written  in  1818  and  published  in  1820.  "  Felt,  and  in  a  great  meas- 
ure composed,"  Wordsworth  says,  "  upon  the  little  mount  in  front  of 
our  abode  at  Rydal."  A  copy  in  MS.  was  sent  to  the  American  painter, 
Washington  Allston,  of  whose  picture  Wordsworth  speaks  in  the  note 


NOTES. 


471 


on  1.  49  (see  The  Athenaum,  July  7,  1894).  It  is  evident  that  the 
earlier  lines  of  stanza  3  are  also  connected  with  Allston's  "  Jacob's 
Dream." 

13.  Before  1832 :  "  Or  ranged  like  stars  along  some  sovereign 
height." 

49.  Before  1837  :  "  shoulder."  Wordsworth  writes  :  "  In  these  lines 
I  am  under  obligation  to  the  exquisite  picture  of  '  Jacob's  Dream  '  by 
Mr.  Alstone  [AUston],  now  in  America.  It  is  pleasant  to  make  this 
public  acknowledgment  to  men  of  genius,  whom  I  have  the  honour  to 
rank  among  my  friends." 

52.     Practicable  way,  a  ladder  that  may  be  scaled. 

62.  In  1837  "mine  eye"  replaced  "my  eye,"  to  avoid  the  clash  of 
sound. 

Wordsworth's  footnote  directs  the  reader  to  compare  with  stanza  4 
the  opening  of  the  "  Ode  :  Intimations  of  Immortality." 

SEPTEMBER,    1819   ("  The  sylvan  slopes  "). 

Written  1819;  published  1820.     Text  unaltered. 

With  this  poem,  imbued  with  the  autumnal  tranquillity,  might  be 
read  the  "  Ode  to  Lycoris,"  which  maintains  that  we  should  balance  the 
calm  of  declining  years  with  something  of  youth  and  springtime  main- 
tained within  the  soul. 

UPON   THE   SAME    OCCASION. 

Composed  in  front  of  Rydal  Mount  and  during  walks  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood in  1819;  published  in  1820.  The  only  change  made  after 
1820  was  in  1.  47,  happily  altered  in  1827  from  the  earlier  "  With 
passion's  finest  finger  swayed."  In  the  River  Duddon  volume  of  1820, 
in  1.  58  we  find  "  Horace  boasted  "  ;  the  better  word  "  gloried  "  is  found 
in  "  Miscellaneous  Poems  "  of  the  same  year. 

In  his  "  Description  of  the  English  Lakes,"  Wordsworth  speaks  of 
the  peculiarly  favoured  days  —  worth  whole  months  —  which  occur 
sometimes  in  springtime,  more  often  in  autumn  :  "  But  it  is  in  autumn 
that  days  of  such  affecting  influence  most  frequently  intervene;  —  the 
atmosphere  seems  refined,  and  the  sky  rendered  more  crystalline,  as  the 
vivifying  heat  of  the  year  abates ;  the  lights  and  shadows  are  more 
delicate ;  the  colouring  is  richer  and  more  finely  harmonised  ;  and  in 
this  season  of  stillness,  the  ear  being  unoccupied,  the  sense  of  vision 
becomes  more  susceptible  of  its  appropriate  enjoyments." 


472 


NOTES. 


31-36.  Wordsworth  imagines  the  Druids  as  the  earliest  British 
bards. 

38.  Alcaeus,  of  Mytilene,  in  the  island  of  Lesbos,  the  earliest  of  the 
^olian  lyric  poets.  "  He  thought  that  his  lyre  was  best  employed  in 
animating  his  friends  to  warlike  deeds,  and  his  house  is  described  by 
himself  as  furnished  with  the  weapons  of  war  rather  than  with  the 
instruments  of  his  art."  —  Smith's  Dictionary  of  Greek  and  Roman 
Biography  and  Mythology. 

46.  The  Lesbian  Maid,  Sappho.  "  There  are  passages  in  her 
poems  referring  to  her  love  for  a  beautiful  youth  whom  she  endeavoured 
to  conciliate  by  her  poetry  "  —  perhaps  the  foundation  of  the  legend  of 
her  passion  for  Phaon.  —  Smith's  Dictionary. 

50.  In  excavating  Herculaneum,  a  number  of  papyrus  rolls  were 
found  containing  treatises  on  the  Epicurean  philosophy. 

52.  Theban  fragment,  some  lines  of  Pindar,  the  Theban  poet, 
whose  poems  have  come  down  to  us,  with  the  exception  of  his  "  Epi- 
nicia,"  or  triumphal  odes,  in  fragments. 

54.  Simonides,  the  poet  of  the  island  of  Ceos,  born  B.C.  556. 
"  Belonging  to  a  people  eminent  for  their  orderly  and  virtuous  character, 
vSimonides  himself  became  proverbial  for  that  virtue  which  the  Greeks 
call  auxppoc-uvri,  temperance,  order,  and  self-command  in  one's  own  con- 
duct, and  moderation  in  one's  opinions  and  desires  and  views  of  human 
life;  and  this  spirit  breathes  through  all  his  poetry."  —  Smith's 
Dictionary. 

59.     Maro,  Virgil. 


TO    THE    REV.    DR.    WORDSWORTH. 

( With  the  Sonnets  to  the  River  Duddon,  etc.) 

Written  and  published  in  1820,  when  Wordsworth's  brother  Chris- 
topher, afterwards  Master  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  was  Rector  of 
Lambeth.     The  text  was  never  altered. 

51.  Cytherea's  zone,  Cytherea,  a  name  for  Venus,  who  was  said 
to  have  sprung  from  the  foam  of  the  sea  near  Cythera,  now  Cerigo,  an 
island  on  the  southeast  of  the  Morea.  On  her  zone,  or  cestus,  were 
represented  all  things  tending  to  excite  love. 

65.  Lambeth's  venerable  towers,  Lambeth  Palace  on  the  banks 
of  the  Thames,  the  official  residence  of  the  Archbishops  of  Canterbury 
since  1197. 


NOTES.  473 


TO   THE    LADY    FLEMING,  etc. 

Written  in  1823;  begun  in  December,  1S22;  a  copy,  with  inferior 
readings  (recorded  by  Knight)  was  sent  to  Lady  Beaumont,  February  5, 
1823;  published  in  1S27. 

"  The  Fleming  family,"  writes  Professor  Knight,  "  is  descended  from 
Sir  Michael  le  Fleming,  a  relative  of  Baldwin,  Earl  of  Flanders,  a 
brother-in-law  of  William  the  Conqueror."  In  the  Fenwick  note  Words- 
worth expressed  regret  that  the  architect  of  the  chapel  did  not  furnish 
an  elevation  better  suited  to  the  site  in  a  narrow  mountain  pass,  and 
that  the  interior  was  not  better  constructed  for  purposes  of  worship. 
Improvements  were  effected  in  18S4. 

21.  Stanzas  3  and  4  appeared  in  1827  in  a  reverse  order.  The 
sequence  of  ideas  in  4  and  5  is  closer  than  between  3  and  5. 

21-23.     These  hnes  were  admirably  altered  in  1832  ;  in  1827  : 

Even  Strangers  slackening  here  their  pace. 
Shall  bless  this  work  of  pious  care 
Lifting  its 

35.  Wild  wandering :  before  1837  a  hyphen  connected  these 
adjectives. 

41-46.     These  lines  in  1832  replaced  the  following  of  1827: 

Not  yet  the  corner  stone  is  laid 
.With  solemn  rite  ;  but  Fancy  sees 
The  tower  time-stricken,  and  in  shade 
Embosomed  of  coeval  trees ; 
Hears,  o'er  the  lake,  the  warning  clock 
As  it  shall  sound  with  gentle  shock. 

69,  70.  In  1845  Wordsworth  wisely  restored  this,  the  text  of  1827. 
From  1832  to  1843  '■ 

Yea,  strives  for  others  to  bedim 
The  glorious  Light  too  pure  for  him. 

81.  From  Spenser's  description  of  Archimago,  "  Faerie  Queene," 
Bk.  i,  canto  i,  st.  37,  "  a  bold,  bad  man." 

83.  Dark  opprobrious  den,  from  "  Paradise  Lost,"  Bk.  ii,  1.  58", 
"  this  dark  opprobrious  den  of  shame." 

86.  This  line  in  1832  replaced  that  of  1827  :  "Through  Mosedale- 
Cove  from  Carrock's  side."  Fairfield  is  a  mountain  at  Rydal  Head, 
four  miles  northwest  of  Ambleside. 


474 


NOTES. 


TO 


Written  at  Rydal  Mount  in  1824  and  published  in  1827.     Addressed, 
as  Wordsworth  told  Miss  Fenwick,  to  Mary  Wordsworth. 
8.     Sober  certainties,  from  Milton's  "  Comus,"  11.  263-265: 

But  such  a  sacred  and  home-felt  delight, 
Such  sober  certainty  of  waking  bliss, 
I  never  heard  till  now. 

9-12.  This  stanza  was  altered  in  1836;  previously,  "  If  a  faint  sigh 
.  .  .  tell  .  .  .  cherish  me  still  .  .  .  uphold  me  to  the  end."  The  appeal 
is  rather  for  strength  than  for  tenderness,  and  so  "  cherish  me  still " 
gave  place  to  "  yet  bear  me  up." 


WRITTEN     ON     A      BLANK     LEAF     OF     MACPHERSON'S 
OSSIAN. 

Written  in  1824;  published  in  1827.     The  text  is  unchanged  except 
1.  I  which  in  1827  was  "  Oft  have  I  caught  from  fitful  breeze." 
Wordsworth  mentioned  to  Miss  Fenvnck  that  the  verses 

...  or  strayed 
From  hope  and  promise,  self-betrayed, 

were  suggested  by  apprehensions  of  the  fate  of  Hartley  Coleridge. 

Compare  with  this  poem  "Glen  Almain  ;  or  the  Narrow  Glen,"  p.  176. 
Wordsworth's  complaint  here  against  Macpherson  is  for  having  tricked 
out  and  dressed  up  the  Ossianic  poetry,  and  for  having  manufactured 
continuous  epic  poems  out  of  fragments.  And  this  censure  justly 
applies  to  his  "  Fingal,"  "  Temora,"  and  other  poems  ;  but  in  a  far  less 
degree  to  Macpherson's  first  little  volume,  "  Fragments  of  Ancient 
poetry  collected  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland  "  (Edinburgh,  1760).  In 
Wordsworth's  "  Essay,  Supplementary  to  the  Preface  to  the  second 
edition  of  Lyrical  Ballads,"  he  declaims  vigorously  against  the  preten- 
sions of  Macpherson's  "  Ossian."  "  Having  had  the  good  fortune,"  he 
writes,  "  to  be  born  and  reared  in  a  mountainous  country,  from  my  very 
childhood  I  have  felt  the  falsehood  that  pervades  the  volumes  imposed 
'upon  the  world  under  the  name  of  Ossian.  From  what  I  saw  with  my 
own  eyes,  I  knew  that  the  imagery  was  spurious.  In  nature  everything 
is  distinct,  yet  nothing  defined  into  absolute  independent  singleness. 
In  Macpherson's  work,  it  is  exactly  the  reverse ;  everything  (that  is  not 
stolen)  is  in  this  manner  defined,  insulated,  dislocated,  deadened  —  yet 


NOTES. 


475 


nothing  distinct.  It  will  always  be  so  when  words  are  substituted  for 
things."  For  a  sympathetic  criticism  of  Macpherson's  "  Ossian,"  see 
Matthew  Arnold  "  On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature." 

39.  Of  the  semi-mythical  poet  Musaeus  referred  to  here  we  pos- 
sess a  few  fragments  of  doubtful  authenticity.  The  later  Musaeus, 
of  the  5th  century,  is  the  author  of  the  Greek  poem  "  Hero  and 
Leander,"  Englished  by  Marlowe  and  Chapman. 

77.  Morven's  lonely  shore.  In  the"  Supplementary  Essay,"  Words- 
worth speaks  more  disrespectfully  of  Ossianic  topography ;  with  the 
steeps  of  Morven  before  his  eyes,  Macpherson,  he  says,  could  talk 
familiarly  of  car-borne  heroes  ;  "  of  Morven,  which,  if  one  may  judge  from 
its  appearance  at  the  distance  of  a  few  miles,  contains  scarcely  an  acre 
of  ground  sufficient  for  a  sledge  to  be  trailed  along  its  surface." 

79.  Son  of  Fingal,  i.e.,  Ossian. 

80.  Maeonides,  Homer,  reputed  the  son  of  Maeon. 

82.  Referring  to  Milton's  invocation  of  the  muse  in  "  Paradise 
Lost,"  VII,  I,  "  Descend  from  Heaven,  Urania,"  and  30,  31  : 

Still  govern  thou  my  song, 
Urania,  and  fit  audience  find,  though  few. 


TO   A    SKY-LARK    ("  Ethereal  Minstrel !  "). 

Written  at  Rydal  Mount  in  1825  and  published  in  1827,  then  consist- 
ing of  three  stanzas.  One  of  these  stanzas  —  the  second  —  beginning 
"  To  the  last  point  of  vision  "  was  transferred  in  1845  to  the  poem  "  A 
Morning  Exercise."  Wordsworth  desired  that  the  last  five  stanzas  of 
this  latter  poem  should  be  read  with  "  To  a  Sky-lark  "  ;  accordingly  we 
place  them  in  our  text  after  the  "  Skylark." 

8.  Compare  Shelley's  "  Sky-lark,"  "  Like  a  Poet  hidden  In  the 
light  of  thought." 

10.     The  1827  text  (only)  read  "rapture  "  for  "instinct." 

The  idea  of  this  poem  may  be  found  in  "The  Prelude,"  Bk.  xiv, 

11.  383-387  : 

.  .  .  and  hence  this  Song,  which  like  a  lark 
I  have  protracted,  in  the  unwearied  heavens 
Singing,  and  often  with  more  plaintive  voice 
To  earth  attempered  and  her  deep-drawn  sighs, 
Yet  centring  all  in  love. 

Compare  Hogg's  "  The  Lark,"  "  Thy  lay  is  in  heaven  —  thy  love  is  on 
earth." 


476  NOTES. 

"THE   DAISY    SLEEPS." 
(a  fragment.) 

Written  at  Rydal  Mount  in  182S  and  first  printed  in  1832,  being  the 
last  six  stanzas  of  "  A  Morning  Exercise."  See  note  to  the  preceding 
poem,  ''  To  a  Sky-lark." 

TO    MAY. 

This  poem  is  dated  by  Wordsworth  1826-34;  it  was  published  in 
1835.  '^^^  text  is  unchanged.  It  is  connected  with  "  Ode  composed 
on  May  Morning,"  which  Wordsworth  placed  next  to  it.  Both  poems 
originated  in  11.  81-88,  "How  delicate  the  leafy  vale,"  etc.  'My 
daughter  and  I,"  said  Wordsworth  {Fen-wick  note),  "  left  Rydal  Mount 
upon  a  tour  through  our  mountains  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carr  in  the 
month  of  May,  1826,  and  as  we  were  going  up  the  vale  of  Newlands,  I 
was  struck  with  the  appearance  of  the  little  chapel  gleaming  through 
the  veil  of  half-opened  leaves  ;  and  the  feeling  that  was  then  conveyed 
to  my  mind  was  expressed  in  the  stanza  referred  to  above.  As  in  the 
case  of  '  Liberty '  and  '  Humanity  '  my  first  intention  was  to  write  only 
one  poem,  but  subsequently  I  broke  it  into  two,  making  additions  to 
each  part  so  as  to  produce  a  consistent  and  appropriate  whole."  Some 
of  these  additions  were  probably  made  in  "  the  tame  and  manufacture- 
disfigured  county  of  Lancashire  "  in  the  late  autumn  of  1830,  when  the 
faded  leaves  reminded  Wordsworth  (as  he  mentions  in  a  letter  to  W. 
Rowan  Hamilton)  of  spring. 

59.     Rathe  primrose,  early  primrose,  from  Milton's  "  Lycidas." 

Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies. 


THE    WISHING-GATE. 

Written  at  Rydal  Mount  in  1828;  published  in  an  annual,  "The 
Keepsake,"  1829,  and  again  in  Wordsworth's  "  Poetical  Works  "  in  1832. 
A  second  poem,  "  The  Wishing-Gate  Destroyed,"  was  written  probably 
between  1837  and  1842,  on  a  rumour,  happily  false,  that  the  gate  had 
been  removed  and  the  walls  closed  up.  In  this  later  poem  Wordsworth 
mourns  over  the  gate  of  happy  superstition,  but  finds  consolation  in  the 
thought  that  man  is  not  Fortune's  slave,  and  that  a  sense  of  the  true 
law  of  life  \\\\\  suffice  to  glorify  mountain  and  vale. 


NOTES. 


477 


The  text  of  "The  Wishing-Gate  "  is  unaltered,  except  that  in  1.  31 
"  Yea"  replaced  "  Yes  "  of  the  "Keepsake  "  version,  and  that  in  1.  64, 
"  thirst"  in  1836  replaced  "  yearn." 

40.     Local  Genius,  the  tutelar  spirit  of  the  place. 


"IN    THESE    FAIR    VALES    HATH    MANY    A    TREE." 

Wordsworth  dates  this  "Inscription"  1830 ;  it  was  published  in 
1835.  Possibly  the  date  is  1831,  for  on  September  9  of  that  year 
Wordsworth  sent  a  copy  (differing  slightly  in  11.  6,  7)  to  John  Kenyon. 
The  inscription,  he  says,  was  intended  for  "  a  field  [named  '  Dora's 
field']  adjoining  our  garden  which  I  purchased  two  or  three  years  ago. 
Under  the  shade  of  some  pollard  oaks,  and  on  a  green  terrace  in  that 
field,  we  have  lived  no  small  part  of  the  long  bright  days  of  the  summers 
gone  by;  and  in  a  hazel  nook  of  this  favourite  piece  of  ground  is  a 
Stone,  for  which  I  wrote  one  day  the  following  serious  Inscription." 
The  lines  were  engraved,  during  Wordsworth's  absence  in  Italy,  1837, 
upon  a  brass  plate  inserted  in  the  Stone. 

I,  2.  Compare,  as  regards  Wordsworth's  desire  to  preserve  trees, 
the  sonnet  beginning  "  Degenerate  Douglas  !  "  and  "The  Pine  of  Monte 
Mario."  In  his  "  Description  of  the  Scenery  of  the  Lakes  "  he  writes : 
"  The  want  most  felt,  however,  is  that  of  timber  trees.  There  are  few 
mag7iificent  ones  to  be  found  near  any  of  the  lakes  ;  and  unless  greater 
care  be  taken,  there  will,  in  a  short  time,  scarcely  be  left  an  ancient  oak 
that  would  repay  the  cost  of  felling.  The  neighbourhood  of  Rydal,  not- 
withstanding the  havoc  which  has  been  made,  is  yet  nobly  distinguished." 

6,  7.     In  the  text  of  1835  the  following  appears  : 

To  let  it  rest  in  peace ;  and  here 

(Heaven  knows  how  soon)  the  tender-hearted 

But  this  is  cancelled  in  errata,  and  the  present  reading  is  substituted. 


THE    PRIMROSE    OF   THE    ROCK. 

Written  at  Rydal  Mount  in  1S31  ;  published  in  1835.  The  text  is 
unchanged. 

"  The  rock,"  said  Wordsworth,  "  stands  on  the  right  hand  a  little 
way  leading  up  the  middle  road  from  Rydal  to  Grasmere.  We  have 
been  in  the  habit  of  calling  it  the  Glow-worm  Rock  from  the  number  of 


478  NOTES. 

glow-worms  we  have  often  seen  hanging  on  it  as  described."  The  name 
must  have  been  given  early,  for  in  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal, 
Apr.  24,  1802,  we  find  :  "  We  walked  in  the  evening  to  Rydal.  Cole- 
ridge and  I  lingered  behind.  .  .  .  We  all  stood  to  look  at  Glow-worm 
Rock  —  a  primrose  that  grew  there  and  just  looked  out  on  the  road 
from  its  own  sheltered  bower."  In  1878  Professor  Knight  wrote  ("  The 
English  Lake  District,"  p.  76)  :  "  The  primrose  has  disappeared,  and  the 
glow-worms  have  almost  deserted  the  place, but  the  rock  is  unmistakable." 
Mr.  Hutton,  in  illustrating  the  difference  between  Wordsworth's 
earlier  and  later  styles,  contrasts  the  poem  "  Daffodils,"  so  wonderful 
for  buoyancy,  with  this  poem,  in  which  there  is  less  exultant  buoyancy 
"and  yet  a  grander  and  more  stately  movement."  The  style  "is  alto- 
gether more  ideal  —  reality  counts  for  less,  symbol  for  more."  Aubrey 
de  Vere  says  of  this  poem  that  it  is  "as  distinctly  Wordsworthian  in  its 
inspiration  as  it  is  Christian  in  its  doctrine."  A  poem  by  Tennyson, 
which  may  not  be  "  Christian  in  its  doctrine,"  expresses  at  least  part  of 
the  idea  of  "  The  Primrose  of  the  Rock,"  —  that  the  humblest  fragment 
of  nature  is  inseparably  connected  with  the  Highest : 

Flower  in  the  crannied  wall, 

I  pluck  you  out  of  the  crannies, 

I  hold  you  here,  root  and  all,  in  my  hand, 

Little  flower  —  but  if  I  could  understand 

What  you  are,  root  and  all,  and  all  in  all, 

I  should  know  what  God  and  man  is. 

But  Tennyson    emphasises  if  with  italics  ;  his  mood  is  one  of  awed 
inquisition;  Wordsworth's  is  one  of  faith. 

YARROW    REVISITED. 

Written  in  1831  and  published  in  1835.  The  changes  of  text  are  too 
slight  to  deserve  notice.  In  the  autumn  of  1831  Wordsworth  with  his 
daughter  visited  Scott  at  Abbotsford,  before  Scott's  departure,  in 
shattered  health,  to  Italy.  They  found  him  grievously  changed  in 
body  and  mind.  On  the  morning  after  their  arrival  Scott  accompanied 
them  to  Newark  Castle  on  the  Yarrow.  "  When  we  alighted  from  the 
carriages,"  wrote  Wordsworth,  "  he  walked  pretty  stoutly,  and  had  great 
pleasure  in  revisiting  those  his  favourite  haunts.  Of  that  excursion  the 
verses  '  Yarrow  Revisited '  are  a  memorial.  Notwithstanding  the 
romance  that  pervades  Sir  Walter's  works  and  attaches  to  many  of  his 
habits,  there  is  too  much  pressure  of  fact  for  these  verses  to  harmonise 


NOTES. 


479 


as  much  as  I  could  wish  with  other  poems  [?'.<?.,  in  the  volume  of  1835]. 
On  our  return  in  the  afternoon  we  had  to  cross  the  Tweed  directly 
opposite  Abbotsford.  The  wheels  of  our  carriage  grated  upon  the  pebbles 
in  the  bed  of  the  stream,  that  flows  somewhat  rapidly ;  a  rich  but  sad 
light  of  rather  a  purple  than  a  golden  hue  was  spread  over  the  Eildon 
hills  at  that  moment ;  and  thinking  it  probable  that  it  might  be  the  last 
time  Sir  Walter  would  cross  the  stream,  I  was  not  a  little  moved,  and 
expressed  some  of  my  feelings  in  the  sonnet  beginning  '  A  trouble  not 
of  clouds  or  weeping  rain.'  "  Two  days  later  the  Wordsworths  left 
Abbotsford.  Both  the  verses  "  Yarrow  Revisited  "  and  the  sonnet  were 
sent  to  Scott  before  his  departure  from  England. 

Before  leaving,  Wordsworth  expressed  a  hope  that  Scott's  health 
would  be  benefited  by  the  climate  of  Italy.  Scott's  reply  is  recorded  in 
Wordsworth's  "  Musings  at  Aquapendente  "  : 

Still,  in  more  than  ear-deep  seats, 
Survives  for  me,  and  cannot  but  survive, 
The  tone  of  voice  which  wedded  borrowed  words 
To  sadness  not  their  own,  when  with  faint  smile 
Forced  by  intent  to  take  from  speech  its  edge. 
He  said  "  When  I  am  there,  although  't  is  fair, 
'T  will  be  another  Yarrow." 

102,  103.  Scott's  minstrel  of  the  "  Lay  "  passes  the  "  embattled 
portal  arch  "  with  "  hesitating  step  "  (Introduction  to  the  "  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel,"  11.  31,  32). 

On  the  Yarrow  poems,  see  Shairp's  "  Aspects  of  Poetry,"  chap,  xi, 
"  The  Three  Yarrows,"  and  Veitch's  "  History  and  Poetry  of  the  Scottish 
Border." 


DEVOTIONAL   INCITEMENTS. 

Written  at  Rydal  Mount  in  1832  and  published  in  1835.  The  motto 
is  from  "  Paradise  Lost,"  Bk.  v,  7S-80. 

47.  By  art  to  unsensualise  the  mind.  Wordsworth  probably  had 
in  his  memory  some  lines  of  Coleridge's  early  poem  "  Religious  Mus- 
ings "  (11.  208-212) : 

All  the  inventive  arts,  that  nursed  the  soul 
To  forms  of  beauty,  and  by  sensual  wants 
Unsensualized  the  mind,  which  in  the  means 
Learnt  to  forget  the  grossness  of  the  end, 
Best  pleasured  with  its  own  activity. 


48  O  NOTES. 

50-54.    The  two  pairs  of  lines  before  1836  appeared  in  a  reverse  order. 
69.     Eternal  Will:  before  1836,  "  almighty  Will." 
71.     In  1835:  "  Her  admonitions  Nature  yields."     In  1836,  "Divine 
admonishment  She  yields."     Altered  to  present  text  in  1845. 

"CALM    IS   THE    FRAGRANT   AIR." 
(An  Evening  Voluntary.) 

Written  1832 ;  published  1835. 

22.  The  busy  dor-hawk :  before  1837,  "  Far-heard  the  dor-hawk." 
The  night-jar  or  European  goat-sucker,  called  dor-hawk  from  the  sound 
it  makes,  would  not  be  "far-heard." 

25,  26.     These  lines  were  happily  added  in  1837. 


"IF   THIS  GREAT   WORLD   OF   JOY    AND    PAIN." 

Written  in  1833  ;  published  in  1835.  The  text  is  unchanged.  The 
lines  may  have  been  suggested  by  the  Reform  Bill  of  1832,  to  which 
Wordsworth  had  been  opposed. 


ON    A    HIGH    PART   OF   THE    COAST   OF    CUMBERLAND. 

(An  Evening  Voluntary.) 

Written  in  1833  ;  published  in  1835.  The  text  is  unchanged.  "The 
lines,"  said  Wordsworth  (Fenwick  note),  "were  composed  on  the  road 
between  Moresby  [County  Cumberland]  and  Whitehaven,  while  I  was 
on  a  visit  to  my  son,  then  rector  of  the  former  place.  This  and  some 
other  Voluntaries  originated  in  the  concluding  lines  of  the  last  para- 
graph of  the  poem."  Wordsworth  had  been  familiar  from  earliest 
childhood  with  this  coast. 

24.  Psalms  cxi.  10,  "  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of 
wisdom." 

"NOT   IN   THE   LUCID    INTERVALS   OF   LIFE." 

(An  Evening  Voluntary.) 

Written  in  1834  and  published  in  1835.  '^^^  °^^y  change  of  text  is 
the  alteration  in  1837  of  "  dares  "  to  "  dare  "  after  "if,"  a  change  made 
in  several  instances  in  the  ed.  of  1836-37.     Wordsworth  notes  that  11. 


NOTES.  481 

7-1 5  "  were  written  with  Lord  Byron's  character,  as  a  poet,  before  me, 
and  that  of  others,  his  contemporaries,  who  wrote  under  like  influences." 
6.  Mammon's  cave.  Perhaps  Wordsworth  thought  of  the  "  Faerie 
Queene,"  Bk.  ii,  canto  vii,  where  Guyon  finds  Mammon  "  in  a  delve, 
sunning  his  threasure  hore." 

The  poem  expresses  Wordsworth's   feeling  for  nature  in  its  latest 
phase : 

By  grace  divine 
Not  otherwise,  O  Nature !  we  are  thine. 


TO   A   CHILD. 

WRITTEN    IN    HER    ALBUM. 

Written  in  1834  and  published  in  1835.  "This  quatrain,"  said 
Wordsworth  {^Fenwick  note).,  "was  extempore  on  observing  this  image, 
as  I  had  often  done,  on  the  lawn  of  Rydal  Mount.  It  was  first  written 
down  in  the  Album  of  my  god-daughter,  Rotha  Quillinan." 

2.  Before  1845  :  "Of  friends,  however  humble,  scorn  not  one." 
Another  poem  of  Wordsworth's,  that  beginning  "  So  fair,  so  sweet, 
withal  so  sensitive,"  was  suggested  by  the  shadow  of  a  daisy,  seen  in 
July,  1844,  near  Loughrigg  Tarn,  whither  Wordsworth  walked  in  com- 
pany with  Archer  Butler,  JuUus  C.  Hare,  Sir  W.  Rowan  Hamilton,  and 
R.  Perceval  Graves.     The  poet  wishes 

That  to  this  mountain-daisy's  self  were  known 
The  beauty  of  its  star-shaped  shadow,  thrown 
On  the  smooth  surface  of  this  naked  stone ! 


WRITTEN   AFTER   THE   DEATH    OF  CHARLES   LAMB. 

Lamb  died  Dec.  27,  1834;  this  poem  was  written  in  November,  1835, 
and  was  privately  printed ;  in  1837  it  appeared  in  Wordsworth's 
"Poetical  Works,"  but  without  a  title;  the  title  was  given  in  1S45. 
The  text  of  1837  remained  unaltered,  but  several  variations  found  in 
the  rare  private  impression  are  recorded  in  the  Aldine  ed.  of  Words- 
worth's "  Poetical  Works."  At  first  an  epitaph  (11. 40-43)  was  designed 
for  inscription  on  the  stone,  but  the  poem  grew  too  long  for  this  purpose. 
The  epitaphs  of  Chiabrera  (some  of  which  had  been  translated  by 
Wordsworth  in  earlier  years)  served  as  the  model. 


482  NOTES. 

It  may  suffice  to  note  here  with  respect  to  the  private  impression 
that  it  opened  with  the  line,  "  To  the  dear  memory  of  a  frail  good  Man," 

and  closed  thus : 

The  sacred  tie 
Is  broken,  to  become  more  sacred  still. 

Lamb's  place  of  burial  is  Edmonton  church-yard.  His  sister,  who  sur- 
vived him  nearly  thirteen  years,  was  buried  by  his  side. 

Elegiac  poems  in  memory  of  the  dead  may  either  aim  at  perpetuating 
the  memory  of  the  dead  by  a  monumental  portrait  or  by  an  impassioned 
lament  in  which  there  is  little  of  portraiture.  To  the  latter  class 
belong  Milton's  "  Lycidas,"  Shelley's  "  Adonais,"  and  Matthew  Arnold's 
"  Thyrsis  " ;  to  the  former  Daniel's  "  Memorial  of  the  Earl  of  Devon- 
shire," Henry  Taylor's  admirable  lines  in  remembrance  of  Edward 
Villiers,  and  the  present  poem.  Lamb's  birth  in  London,  his  love  of 
the  great  city,  his  service  in  the  India  House,  his  delight  in  books,  his 
literary  work,  his  gentleness  of  nature,  his  wit  and  pathos,  his  devotion 
to  his  sister  and  her  devotion  to  him,  are  here  recorded;  and  with 
becoming  reserve  reference  is  made  to  the  great  affliction  of  Mary 
Lamb's  life,  her  tendency  to  insanity,  which  brought  out  the  heroism  of 
Charles  Lamb's  character.  The  reader  should  consult  Ainger's  "  Charles 
Lamb  "  in  the  series  of  "  English  Men  of  Letters." 

In  illustration  of  the  lines 

Thou  wert  a  scorner  of  the  fields,  my  Friend, 
But  more  in  show  than  truth, 

see  a  letter  from  Lamb  to  Wordsworth  of  Jan.  30,  1801  :  "  Separate 
from  the  pleasure  of  your  company,  I  don't  much  care  if  I  never  see  a 
mountain  in  my  life.  I  have  passed  all  my  days  in  London,  until  I  have 
formed  as  many  and  as  intense  local  attachments  as  any  of  you  moun- 
taineers can  have  done  with  dead  Nature."  What  follows,  on  the 
delights  of  London,  is  in  Lamb's  most  characteristic  manner,  but  is  too 
long  to  quote. 


EXTEMPORE   EFFUSION    UPON    THE   DEATH   OF   JAMES 

HOGG. 

Hogg,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  died  on  Nov.  21,  1835,  and  these  verses 
were,  Wordsworth  says,  written  extempore  immediately  after  reading  a 
notice  of  his  death  in  a  Newcastle  paper.  -To  the  editor  of  that  paper 
he  sent  a  copy  for  publication,  and  the  poem  may  have  been  printed 


NOTES.  483 

first  there.  It  appeared  on  Dec.  12,  1835,  in  The  Athenaiim.  The  only 
change  of  text  in  the  "  Poetical  Works  "  is  in  1.  25,  where  "  slumber  " 
before  1845  ^^'^s  "slumbers." 

Wordsworth  added  the  following  note  : 

"  Walter  Scott       died  21st  Sept.,  1832. 

S.  T.  Coleridge "    25th  July,    1834. 

Charles  Lamb "    27th  Dec,   1834. 

Geo.  Crabbe        "    3rd    Feb.,    1832. 

Felicia  Hemans "    i6th  May.    1835." 

In  the  Fetiwick  note  is  much  interesting  gossip  about  Crabbe  and 
Mrs.  Hemans,  but  to  Mrs.  Hemans  Wordsworth  is  unjust. 

1-4.  Refers  to  the  tour  in  Scotland,  1814.  See  "  Yarrow  Visited," 
p.  251. 

5-8.  Refers  to  the  visit  to  Abbotsford  in  1831.  See  "Yarrow 
Revisited,"  p.  290,  and  the  sonnet  "  A  trouble  not  of  clouds,"  p.  341. 

17,  18.  Hazlitt,  in  describing  S.  T.  Coleridge  ("My  First  Acquaint- 
ance with  Poets"),  writes:  "  His  forehead  was  broad  and  high,  light  as 
if  built  of  ivory,  vA\^  large  projecting  eyebrows,  and  his  eyes  rolling 
beneath  them  like  a  sea  with  darkened  lustre." 

32.  Wordsworth  frequently  met  Crabbe  at  Mr.  Hoare's  upon 
Hampstead  Heath,  where  Crabbe  was  accustomed  to  pay  a  %asit  of 
some  length  in  the  spring. 

35.     Crabbe  died  in  his  78th  year. 

39.     Felicia  Hemans  died  in  Dublin  in  her  42d  year. 

41,  42.  Referring  to  the  ballads  of  Yarrow.  See  notes  on  "  Yarrow 
Unvisited,"  p.  433. 


SONNETS. 

COMPOSED  BY  THE  SEASIDE,  NEAR  CALAIS,  August,  1S02. 
("  Fair  Star,"  etc.). 

Taking  advantage  of  the  Peace  of  Amiens,  Wordsworth  and  his 
sister  vLsited  Calais  in  the  summer  of  1802.  This  sonnet,  written  in 
August  of  that  year,  was  first  published  in  1S07.  The  text  is  unchanged 
except  in  1.  10,  where  "  that  "- was  substituted  in  1S37  for  the  earlier 
"it."     Dorothy   Wordsworth   writes  in  her  Journal:  "We    arrived    at 


484  NOTES. 

Calais  at  four  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning  (Aug.  i).  .  .  .  We  had 
delightful  walks  after  the  heat  of  the  day  was  past  —  seeing  far  off  in 
the  west  the  coast  of  England,  like  a  cloud,  crested  with  Dover  Castle, 
which  was  but  like  the  summit  of  the  cloud  —  the  evening  Star,  and  the 
glory  of  the  sky  ;  the  reflections  in  the  water  were  more  beautiful  than 
the  sky  itself  ;  purple  waves  brighter  than  precious  stones  for  ever  melt- 
ing away  upon  the  sands." 

The  war  of  England  against  the  French  Republic  had  for  a  time 
alienated  Wordsworth  from  his  own  country  ;  but  he  had  lost  his  faith 
in  P  ranee  and  was  now  restored  in  heart  to  England.  Yet  he  had  fears 
that  England  was  fallen  in  moral  temper  from  her  ancient  simplicity 
and  strength.  This  invocation  of  the  evening  star  as  his  country's 
emblem  serves  as  an  appropriate  introduction  to  the  political  sonnets. 
The  Poet  looks  away  from  France,  which  had  once  been  the  source  of 
his  hopes  and  faith,  to  England  and  her  glorious  crest. 


CALAIS,  August,   1802  ("  Is  it  a  reed"). 

This  sonnet  first  appeared  in  The  Morning  Post,  in  January,  1803; 
it  was  first  included  among  Wordsworth's  poems  in  1807.  On  Aug.  2, 
1802,  Napoleon  was  appointed  First  Consul  for  life. 

I,  2.     From  St.  Matthew  xl.  7. 


1801  ("  I  grieved,"  etc.). 

This  sonnet  was  written  on  May  21,  1802  ;  it  was  first  published  on 
Sept.  16,  1802,  in  The  Morning  Post,  and  again  in  the  same  paper  in 
January,  1803  ;  first  included  among  Wordsworth's  poems  in  1807.  In 
Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal,  May  21,  1802,  we  read:  "William 
wrote  two  sonnets  on  Buonaparte,  after  I  had  read  Milton's  sonnets 
for  him."  Napoleon  had  been  chosen  First  Consul  for  ten  years  to 
come  on  May  8.  Wordsworth's  date  "  1801  "  is  perhaps  an  error,  or 
perhaps  it  refers  to  the  treaties  of  peace  of  that  year  viewed  as  prelimi- 
naries to  Napoleon's  supreme  power. 

As  the  text  stood  in  1807  "vital  blood"  appeared  in  1.  2  where 
"tenderest  mood"  (1837)  appears  in  the  present  text.    In  edd.  1815-32 

11.  2-4  were  as  follows  : 

.  .  .  for  who  aspires 
To  genuine  greatness  but  from  just  desires 
And  knowledge  such  as  He  could  never  gain  ? 


NOTES. 


485 


Happily  Wordsworth  reverted  to  his  original  text,  with  the  alteration 
of  "vital  blood"  just  noted.  The  alteration  of  rhymes  in  1815  removed 
the  sonnet  farther  from  the  Italian  model  than  it  originally  was  or  is 
now. 


ON   THE   EXTINCTION    OF   THE   VENETIAN    REPUBLIC. 

Written,  probably,  in  August,  1802  ;  first  published  in  1807.  The 
text  has  never  been  altered. 

"The  Venetians  were  called  on  to  recognize  the  French  Republic; 
they  refused,  but  did  not  join  the  coalition  against  it.  When  Bonaparte 
was  at  the  gates  of  Mantua,  they  at  length  decided  to  treat  with  him; 
but  it  was  too  late.  ...  On  Sth  May  [1797]  the  great  council  decided 
to  offer  no  resistance  to  the  French;  the  doge  abdicated  on  the  12th; 
and  Napoleon  entered  the  city  on  the  i6th,  and  proclaimed  the  end  of 
the  Republic.  On  17th  October  follo^^^ng,  Bonaparte,  by  the  treaty 
of  Campo  Formio,  abandoned  the  territory  of  Venice  to  Austria. 
Venice  was  buffeted  to  and  fro  between  France  and  Austria  from  1798 
to  1814,  when  the  new  coalition  assigned  her  to  Austria."  —  Encyc. 
Brit.,  article  "Venice." 

1.  "The  crusading  expeditions  of  the  Doge  Faliero,  followed  up  by 
his  successor  Doge  Michele,  riveted  the  power  of  Venice  in  Syria  by  the 
reduction  of  Tyre.  .  .  .  Enrico  Dandalo  reduced  Trieste,  reconquered 
Zara,  and  headed  the  fourth  crusade,  nominally  for  Palestine,  really 
against  Constantinople,  which  he  stormed."  —  Chambers's  Encyc, 
article  "  Venice." 

2.  The  latter  half  of  the  1 5th  century  was  partly  occupied  with 
hostilities  against  the  Turks. 

7,  8.  From  the  Bucentaur  on  every  Ascension  Day  the  doge  solemnly 
espoused  the  Adriatic. 

13,  14.  Compare  Burke  on  the  fall  of  greatness  in  the  French 
Revolution :  "  Why  do  I  feel  so  differently  from  the  Rev.  Dr.  Price,  and 
those  of  his  lay  flock,  who  will  choose  to  adopt  the  sentiments  of  his 
discourse  ?  For  this  plain  reason  —  because  it  is  natural  I  should ; 
because  we  are  so  made  as  to  be  affected  at  such  spectacles  with 
melancholy  sentiments  upon  the  unstable  condition  of  mortal  prosperity 
and  the  tremendous  uncertainty  of  human  greatness;  because  in  those 
natural  feelings  we  learn  great  lessons ;  because  in  events  like  these  our 
passions  instruct  our  reason." 


486  NOTES. 


TO   TOUSSAINT    L'OUVERTURE. 

Written  in  1802  ;  first  published,  with  an  inferior  text,  in  The  Morning 
Post,  Feb.  2,  1803  >    fi^st  included  among  Wordsworth's  poems  in  1807. 

Toussaint  (surnamed  L'Ouverturein  1793,  because  ^^  broke  through 
the  entrenched  quarters  of  the  Spaniards),  one  of  the  liberators,  of 
Hayti,  was  born  in  slavery  1743,  joined  the  negro  insurgents  in  1791, 
was  made  a  general  by  the  French  Convention  for  his  services  against 
the  Spaniards,  and  became  chief  of  the  army  of  St.  Domingo.  About 
iSoo  he  "began  to  aim  at  independence  of  France.  Bonaparte  having, 
after  the  peace  of  Amiens,  proclaimed  the  reestablishment  of  slavery  in 
San  Domingo,  Toussaint  declined  to  obey,  whereupon  General  Le  Clerc 
was  sent  with  a  strong  fleet  to  compel  him.  The  liberator  soon  sub- 
mitted, but  was  treacherously  arrested,  sent  to  France,  and  flung  into  a 
damp,  dark  dungeon  at  Fort  de  Joux,  near  Besan9on,  where  he  sank 
after  ten  months,  Apr.  27,  1803."  —  Chambers's  Encyc. 

2-4.     Date  from  1827.     The  earlier  readings  were  : 

Whether  the  rural  milk-maid  by  her  Cow 

Sing  in  thy  hearing,  or  thou  liest  now 

Alone  in  some  deep  dungeon's  earless  den  ;     (1807.) 

Whether  the  all-cheering  Sun  be  free  to  shed 
His  beams  around  thee,  or  thou  rest  thy  head 
Pillowed  in  some  dark  dungeon's  noisome  den.     (1815.) 

Whether  the  whistling  Rustic  tend  his  plough 

Within  thy  hearing,  or  thou  liest  now 

Buried  in  some  deep  dungeon's  earless  den.     {1820.) 

The  reading  of  181 5  was  probably  rejected  because  the  powers  of 
nature,  of  which  the  sun  is  one,  should  not  be  introduced  until  the 
sextet,  where  they  appear  as  taking  up  and  carrying  on  Toussaint's 
work  of  liberation.  There  was  also  in  181 5  a  loss  to  the  regular  rhyme- 
system  of  the  sonnet. 

Observe  how  the  powers  of  external  nature  and  of  human  passion 
are  presented  as  conjoint  workers  on  behalf  of  freedom. 


SEPTEMBER,    1802,    near  Dover. 

First  published  1807  ;  the  text  was  never  altered.  The  thought  that 
material  powers  will  not  avail  for  the  defence  of  freedom  unless 
supported  by  moral  powers  is  of  frequent  recurrence  in  Wordsworth, 


NOTES.  487 

especially  in  these  political  sonnets  and  in  the  pamphlet  on  the  Conven- 
tion of  Cintra.  In  Dorothy  Wordsworth's  Journal  we  read  :  "  On 
Sunday,  the  29th  of  August,  we  left  Calais  at  twelve  o'clock  in  the 
morning  and  landed  at  Dover  at  one  on  Monday  the  30th.  .  .  .  The 
next  day  was  very  hot.  We  .  .  .  bathed,  and  sate  upon  the  Dover 
Cliffs,  and  looked  upon  France  with  many  a  melancholy  and  tender 
thought.  We  could  see  the  shores  almost  as  plain  as  if  it  were  but  an 
English  lake." 


THOUGHT    OF    A    BRITON    ON    THE    SUBJUGATION    OF 
SWITZERLAND. 

This  sonnet,  which  was  composed  while  Wordsworth  was  pacing  to 
and  fro  between  the  Hall  of  Coleorton  (Sir  George  Beaumont's  resi- 
dence), then  rebuilding,  and  the  principal  farmhouse  on  the  estate, 
occupied  by  the  Wordsworth  family  for  several  months,  belongs  to  the 
close  of  1806  or  opening  of  1S07  ;  it  was  first  published  in  1807  ;  the 
text  was  never  altered.  In  September,  1808,  Wordsworth  called  it  his 
best  sonnet. 

The  invasion  of  Switzerland  by  France  in  1797  completely  alienated 
Coleridge's  sympathies  from  the  French,  and  he  expressed  his  feelings 
in  his  great  poem  "  France  :  an  Ode."  Carnot,  one  of  the  founders  of 
the  French  Republic,  gives  expression  to  a  like  indignation  in  his 
"  Reponse  .  .  .  au  Rapport  fait  sur  la  conjuration  du  18  fructidor  .  .  . 
par  J.-Ch.  Bailleul  .  .  ."  But  Wordsworth's  sonnet  probably  has 
special  reference  to  Bonaparte's  "Act  of  Mediation,"  1S03,  by  which 
the  Swiss  Confederation  was  reinstituted.  While  it  was  an  improve- 
ment in  many  respects  on  the  Helvetic  Republic,  the  new  arrangement 
guaranteed  by  Bonaparte  made  French  influence  predominant  in 
Switzerland. 


WRITTEN    IN    LONDON    September,   1802    f  O   Friend!"  etc.). 

"  This  was  written  immediately  after  my  return  from  France  to 
London,  when  I  could  not  but  be  struck,  as  here  described,  with  the 
vanity  and  parade  of  our  own  country,  especially  in  great  towns  and 
cities,  as  contrasted  with  the  quiet,  and  I  may  say  the  desolation,  that 
the  revolution  had  produced  in  France.  This  must  be  borne  in  mind, 
or  else  the  reader  may  think  that  in  this  and  the  succeeding  sonnets  I 


488  NOTES. 

have  exaggerated  the  mischief  engendered  and  fostered  among  us  by 
undisturbed  wealth."  - —  Wordsworth's  note. 

The  sonnet  was  first  published  in  1807  ;  the  text  was  unaltered  except 
that  in  the  collected  volume  of  "  Sonnets,"  1838,  —  and  here  alone, — 
the  first  line  stands  ''  O  thou  proud  City !  which  way  shall  I  look." 

The  recoil  from  city  luxury  had  been  often  expressed  by  Cowper ; 
see,  for  example,  "  The  Task,"  Bk.  i,  11.  678-749. 

The  "  Friend  "  of  1.  i  was  Coleridge. 

LONDON,    1802    ("  Milton  !"  etc.). 

Written  in  1802  ;  first  published  1807.  The  only  textual  change  is 
the  word  "  herself "  in  the  last  line,  substituted  in  1820  for  "  itself." 
On  the  personification  of  Milton's  heart  as  feminine,  compare  "  The 
Excursion,"  Bk.  iii,  1.  738 :  "  My  soul  diffused  herself"  etc.,  and  "  The  Old 
Cumberland  Beggar,"  1.  104  (note).  The  mood  in  which  this  sonnet 
was  written  is  akin  to  that  which  gave  birth  to  the  sonnet  "  Written  in 
London,  September,  1S02." 

In  the  third  book  of  "  The  Prelude,"  Wordsworth  tells  how  he 
imagined  Milton  as  one  of  his  predecessors  at  the  University  of  Cam- 
bridge : 

Yea,  our  blind  Poet,  who  in  his  later  day, 

Stood  almost  single  ;  uttering  odious  truth  — 

Darkness  before,  and  danger's  voice  behind. 

Soul  awful  —  if  the  earth  has  ever  lodged 

An  awful  soul  —  I  seemed  to  see  him  here 

Familiaf  ly,  and  in  his  scholar's  dress 

Bounding  before  me,  yet  a  stripling  youth  — 

A  boy,  no  better,  with  his  rosy  cheeks 

Angelical,  keen  eye,  courageous  look, 

And  conscious  step  of  purity  and  pride. 

He  goes  on  to  tell  how  the  only  time  his  brain  was  ever  excited  by  wine 
was  when  drinking  to  Milton's  memory  in  the  room  once  occupied  by 
the  poet. 

10.  Tennyson,  thinking  of  Milton  as  an  "  inventor  of  harmonies," 
calls  him  the  "  organ-voice  of  England."  Wordsworth  has  Milton's  art 
less  in  his  mind  than  Milton's  native  power.  Swinburne,  in  his  "  Inscrip- 
tions for  the  Four  Sides  of  a  Pedestal,"  ascribes  the  first  sea-like  sound 
in  English  song  to  Marlowe  : 

...  he 
First  gave  our  song  a  sound  that  matched  our  sea. 


NO  TEH.  489 


"IT   IS    NOT   TO    BE    THOUGHT    OF,"  etc. 

Written  in  1802  or  1803  ;  first  published  in  The  Morning  Post  in 
1803;  first  included  in  Wordsworth's  poems  1807. 

5,  6.  Date  from  1827,  when  they  replaced  lines  entirely  different  in 
meaning  : 

Road  by  which  all  might  come  and  go  that  would, 
And  bear  out  freights  of  worth  to  foreign  lands. 

The  opposition  between  "  British  freedom  "  and  what  he  deemed  its 
"  salutary  bonds  "  would  naturally  occur  to  Wordsworth  in  days  not 
long  before  Catholic  Emancipation  and  the  Reform  Bill. 

The  words  quoted,  1.  4,  are  from  Daniel,  "  Civil  War,"  Bk.  ii,  stanza  7. 

"WHEN    I    HAVE    BORNE   IN    MEMORY,"  etc. 

This  sonnet  was  probably  written  in  1802  or  1803  ;  it  was  first  pub- 
lished in  The  Alortiing  Post,  Sept.  17,  1803,  and  first  included  among 
Wordsworth's  poems  in  1807. 

The  alterations  of  text  were  few  and  slight ;  the  only  one  that  need 
be  noted  illustrates  Wordsworth's  vigilant  superintendence  of  detail : 
in  1.  6  "  Now  "  replaced  in  1845  ^^^  earlier  "  But  " ;  in  1.  9  "  But  "  also 
stood  until  1845  (except  in  the  Sonnet  volume  of  1838  where  "  Most  " 
is  found).  It  might  seem  that  the  logic  here  is  injured  by  the  idea  of 
"  unfilial  fears  "  (1. 8) ;  for  the  last  line  of  the  sonnet  — designed  to  express 
the  same  mood  and  moment  —  justifies  such  fears  on  the  ground  that 
they  are  filial,  those  which  an  anxious  child  might  feel  for  a  mother. 
Wordsworth  doubtless  means  that  the  fears,  filial  as  offspring  of  love, 
are  unfilial  as  lacking  faith. 

OCTOBER,    1803   ("  These  times  strike  monied  worldlings,"  etc). 

First  published  in  1807.  The  only  change  of  text  is  the  substitution 
in  1.  I  of  the  word  "strike"  in  1837  for  the  earlier  "touch."  There 
were  expectations  of  an  invasion  of  England  by  the  French  in  1803  ;  see 
the  sonnets  "  In  the  Pass  of  Killikranky  "  and  "  To  the  Men  of  Kent." 

10,  II.  In  a  sonnet  of  1811  (that  beginning  "  Here  pause")  Words- 
worth speaks  of  hope  as  "  the  paramount  duty  that' Heaven  lays 

For  its  own  honour  on  man's  suffering  heart." 

And  in  the  pamphlet  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra  he  writes  :  "  But, 
from  the  moment  of  the  rising  of  the  people  of  the  Pyrenean  peninsula,. 


49©  NOTES. 

there  was  a  mighty  change  ;  we  were  instantaneously  animated ;  and, 
from  that  moment  the  contest  assumed  the  dignity,  which  it  is  not  in 
the  power  of  anything  but  hope  to  bestow." 

This  sonnet  applies  to  the  individual  man  the  doctrine  which  Words- 
worth so  often  urges  with  respect  to  national  life,  —  that  the  source  of 
strength  is  from  within,  a  moral  power,  not  an  accumulation  of  external 
resources. 

IN   THE    PASS    OF   KILLIKRANKY. 

First  published  1807.  The  text  was  never  altered.  Dorothy  Words- 
worth writes  in  her  Journal,  Sept.  8, 1803  :  "  When  we  were  travelling  in 
Scotland  an  invasion  was  hourly  looked  for,  and  one  could  not  but  think 
with  some  regret  of  the  times  when  from  the  now  depopulated  High- 
lands forty  or  fifty  thousand  men  might  have  been  poured  down  for  the 
defence  of  the  country,  under  such  leaders  as  the  Marquis  of  Montrose 
or  the  brave  man  who  had  so  distinguished  himself  upon  the  ground 
where  we  were  standing.  I  will  transcribe  a  sonnet  suggested  to  Wil- 
liam by  this  place,  and  written  in  October,  1803." 

Killiekrankie  is  "  a  beautiful  wooded  pass  in  Perthshire,  on  the  Garry 
River,  15  miles  N.N.W.  of  Dunkeld."  Here  in  1689  John  Graham, 
Viscount  Dundee  ("  Bonnie  Dundee,"  "  Bloody  Claverhouse  "),  met  the 
government  forces  under  General  Mackay  :  "  Two  minutes  decided  the 
contest ;  before  the  wild  rush  of  the  clansmen  the  redcoats  wavered, 
broke,  and  ran  like  sheep  " ;  but  Dundee  fell  mortally  wounded. 

8-10.  Compare  the  following  from  Wordsworth's  pamphlet  on  the 
Convention  of  Cintra :  "  The  discipline  of  the  army  was  well  known  ; 
and  as  a  machine,  or  a  vital  organized  body,  the  Nation  was  assured 
that  it  could  not  but  be  formidable  ;  but  thus  to  the  standing  excel- 
lence of  mechanic  or  organic  power  seemed  to  be  superadded,  at  this 
time  and  for  this  service,  the  force  of  inspiration :  could  anything 
therefore  be  looked  for  but  a  glorious  result .' " 


TO   THE   MEN    OF   KENT,    October,  1803. 

First  published  1S07.  The  personification  in  11.  2,  3  was  incomplete 
until  1827,  when  "  Her  "  was  substituted  for  the  earlier  "  Its." 

2.  Advance  is  here  probably  used  in  the  sense  lift  tip,  as  in  Shake- 
speare's "Tempest,"  I,  ii,  408:  "The  fringed  curtains  of  thine  eyes 
advance,"  and  in  Wordsworth's  "  White  Doe  of  Rylstone,"  III,  158  : 


NOTES.  491 

At  need  he  stood,  advancing  high 
The  glittering,  floating  Pageantry. 

F.  W.  Robertson  writes  in  a  lecture  on  Wordsworth  ("  Lectures  and 
Addresses,"  1861,  p.  255)  :  "  There  is  a  difference  between  the  Kentish 
men  and  the  men  of  Kent.  The  Kentish  men  are  simply  the  inhabitants 
of  the  County  of  Kent.  The  '  Men  of  Kent '  is  a  technical  expression 
applied  to  the  inhabitants  of  that  part  of  Kent  who  were  never  subdued 
in  the  Norman  invasion,  and  who  obtained  glorious  terms  for  them- 
selves, on  capitulation,  receiving  the  confirmation  of  their  own  charters. 
...  It  was  to  the  '  Men  of  Kent,'  the  inhabitants  of  that  part  of  the 
county  nearest  to  the  neighbouring  land  of  France,  that  Wordsworth 
addressed  this  sonnet." 


NOVEMBER,    1806  f  Another  year !  "  etc.). 

First  published  1807.  Suggested  by  the  events  of  October  and 
November,  1806,  the  battle  of  Jena,  October  14,  battle  of  Auerstadt, 
flight  of  King  Frederich  William  of  Prussia,  and  the  occupation  of 
Berlin  by  the  French,  October  25,  and  perhaps  the  decree  of  Napoleon 
at  Berlin,  November  20,  declaring  Great  Britain  in  a  state  of  blockade. 

12.  The  word  "servile"  in  this  line  replaced  in  1820  the  earlier 
"  venal." 

TO   THOMAS    CLARKSON. 

First  published  1807. 

5.  The  words  "  that  enterprise  "  in  1837  replaced  the  earlier  "  this 
pilgrimage."  The  earlier  reading  connects  itself  with  1.  i,"an  obstinate 
hill  to  climb." 

9.  Duty's  intrepid  liegeman  in  1837  replaced  the  earlier  "With 
unabating  effort."  In  the  same  year  "blood-stained"  (1.  11)  was  sub- 
stituted for  "  bloody,"  and  "  wilt  "  for  "  shalt  "  in  1.  12. 

Thomas  Clarkson  (1760-1846)  was  of  Wordsworth's  college,  St. 
John's,  Cambridge,  but  by  some  years  his  predecessor.  "  The  subject 
for  the  Latin  essay  of  1785  was  the  question  'Anne  liceat  in\'itos  in 
servitutem  dare  ? '  and  the  contest  for  this  prize  determined  the  whole 
course  of  Clarkson's  life.  The  bill  for  the  abolition  of  the  slave  trade 
was  introduced  by  Lord  Grenville  in  the  House  of  Lords  on  2  Jan., 
1807,  and  received  the  royal  assent  on  25  March.  Wordsworth  was 
personally  acquainted  with   Clarkson.       In    an    unpublished   letter   of 


49' 


NOTES. 


Hartley  Coleridge's  of  the  year  1836  he  speaks  of  Clarkson's  special 
labour  as  that  of  collecting  evidence  '  by  toil,  by  patience,  at  the  sacri- 
fice of  health,  at  the  frequent  risk  of  life.'  Wilberforce,  he  says, '  under- 
took the  easier  task  of  bringing  the  evidence  into  the  court,  corrobo- 
rating it  by  his  acuteness  and  illuminating  it  by  his  eloquence.' " 


COMPOSED    BY   THE    SIDE    OF    GRASMERE    LAKE,    1807. 

In  August,  1807,  Wordsworth  returned  to  Grasmere  from  Coleorton. 
The  sonnet  was  not  published  until  18 19. 

I.  Until  1827  the  opening  line  was  "Eve's  lingering  Clouds  extend 
in  solid  bars." 

9-1 1.  In  1827  the  present  text  appears  except  that  the  personifi- 
cation was  not  completed  ;  "  it  "  and  "  Its  "  stood  for  "  she  "  and  "  Her  " 
until  1837.     Before  1827  an  inferior  reading  stood  here: 

.  .  .  the  nether  Sphere 
Opening  its  vast  abyss,  while  fancy  feeds 
On  the  rich  show  !  But  list ! 

There  is  a  self-consciousness  implied  in  the  return  of  the  poet  on  his  own 
state  of  mind  ("While  fancy  feeds  on  the  rich  show!  ")  which  Words- 
worth doubtless  felt  to  be  out  of  place. 


COMPOSED    WHILE   THE    AUTHOR,  etc. 

Written  in  November  or  December,  1808;  first  published  1815. 
Wordsworth  fears  that  in  society  our  view  of  public  affairs  may  be 
obscured  by  transitory  objects,  by  self-interest  or  the  interest  of  a  party, 
and  finds  that  the  soul  best  communes  with  itself  and  with  truth  in 
solitude  or  among  the  permanent,  passionate,  and  free  presence  of 
nature. 


"ALAS!  WHAT   BOOTS   THE  LONG   LABORIOUS  QUEST." 

This  sonnet  was  first  published  in  The  Friend,  Nov.  16,  1809,  the 
year  of  composition.  The  text  is  unchanged.  The  title  in  The 
Friend  is  "  Sonnet  suggested  by  the  Efforts  of  the  Tyrolese,  contrasted 
with  the  Present  State  of  Germany." 


NOTES.  493 


1811   ("The  Power  of  Armies,"  etc.)- 

First  published  in  1815.  In  181 1  the  French  were  much  harassed  by 
the  Spanish  guerillas.  In  the  tract  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra  Words- 
worth had  written  :  "  It  was  never  dreamt  by  any  thinking  man  that 
the  Spaniards  were  to  succeed  by  their  army  ;  if  by  their  army  be  meant 
anything  but  the  people.  The  whole  people  is  their  army,  and  their 
true  army  is  the  people,  and  nothing  else.  ...  A  military  spirit  should 
be  there,  and  a  military  action,  not  confined  like  an  ordinary  river  in 
one  channel,  but  spreading  like  the  Nile  over  the  whole  face  of  the 
land.  ...  In  the  moral  virtues  and  qualities  of  passion  which  belong 
to  a  people  must  the  ultimate  salvation  of  a  people  be  sought  for.  .  .  . 
They  must  now  be  taught  that  their  strength  chiefly  lies  in  moral 
qualities,  more  silent  in  their  operation,  more  permanent  in  their  nature ; 
in  the  virtues  of  perseverance,  constancy,  fortitude,  and  watchfulness, 
in  a  long  memory  and  a  quick  feeling,  to  rise  upon  a  favourable  sum- 
mons, a  texture  of  life  which,  though  cut  through  (as  hath  been  feigned 
of  the  bodies  of  the  Angels)  unites  again  —  these  are  the  virtues  and 
qualities  on  which  the  Spanish  People  must  be  taught  mabily  to 
depend." 

2.     Space  in  1827  was  substituted  for  the  earlier  "  place." 


1811   ("  Here  pause,<'  etc.). 

First  published  in  1815.     Text  unchanged. 

7-9.  Compare  S.  T.  Coleridge  in  his  Sixth  Letter  to  the  editor 
of  the  Courier,  1809  ("  Essays  on  his  own  Times,"  p.  645,  ed.  1850) : 
"  The  error,  which  of  all  others  most  besets  the  public  mind,  and  which 
yet  of  all  others  is  the  most  degrading  in  its  nature,  the  most  tremen- 
dous in  its  consequences,  is  an  inward  prostration  of  the  soul  before 
enormous  Power,  and  a  readiness  to  palliate  and  forget  all  iniquities 
to  which  prosperity  has  wedded  itself  ;  as  if  man  were  only  a  puppet 
without  reason  and  free  \\ill,  and  without  the  conscience  which  is  the 
offspring  of  their  union,  a  puppet  played  off  by  some  unknown  power  ! 
as  if  success  were  the  broad  seal  of  the  divine  approbation,  and  tyranny 
itself  the  Almighty's  inauguration  of  a  Tyrant !  .  .  .  The  main  strength 
of  Bonaparte,  Sir,  is  in  the  imaginations  of  men,  which  are  dazzled  and 
blinded  by  the  splendid  robes  and  gaudy  trappings  which  have  been 
purchased  by  guilt  for  its  own  disguise." 


494 


NOTES. 


COMPOSED    UPON    WESTMINSTER   BRIDGE,   Sept.  3,  1802. 

"  Written,"  says  Wordsworth,  "  on  the  roof  of  a  coach  on  my  way  to 
France."  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in  her  Journal  of  1802:  "We 
left  London  on  Saturday  morning  at  half  past  five  or  six,  the  30th  [an 
error,  the  31st]  of  July.  We  mounted  the  Dover  coach  at  Charing 
Cross.  It  was  a  beautiful  morning.  The  city,  St.  Paul's,  ^vith  the 
river,  and  a  multitude  of  little  boats,  made  a  most  beautiful  sight  as 
we  crossed  Westminster  Bridge.  The  houses  were  not  over-hung  by 
their  cloud  of  smoke,  and  they  were  spread  out  endlessly,  yet  the  sun 
shone  so  brightly,  with  such  a  fierce  light,  that  there  was  something  like 
the  purity  of  one  of  nature's  own  grand  spectacles." 

Wordsworth  in  edd.  1807-37  dates  the  sonnet  "  Sept.  3,  1803,"  a 
mistake  as  to  the  year ;  in  later  editions  "  Sept.  3,  1802,"  correct  as  to 
the  year,  but  not  giving  the  actual  month,  July.  On  his  return  from 
France  in  1802,  he  arrived  in  London  on  the  evening  of  August  30,  and 
remained  there  till  September  22.  He  could  hardly  have  forgotten  that 
it  was  in  July  he  travelled  to  France,  not  long  before  his  marriage.  Pos- 
sibly he  thought  July  with  its  "fierce  light"  less  in  harmony  with  the 
sonnet  than  September,  which  he  was  accustomed  to  associate  with 
those  rare  days  of  affecting  influence  described  in  his  "  Guide  to  the 
Lakes."  See  the  poem  "  September,  1819,"  and  notes.  The  text  is 
unchanged. 

Bagehot,  in  his  article  on  "  Pure,  Ornate,  and  Grotesque  Art  in 
Poetry,"  selected  this  sonnet  of  Wordsworth  and  that  on  "  The  Tros- 
sachs  "  as  "  luminous  examples  "  of  pure  art :  "The  compactness  of  the 
sonnet  and  the  gravity  of  the  sentiment  hedging  in  the  thoughts,  restrain- 
ing the  fancy,  and  helping  to  maintain  a  singleness  of  expression. 
Instances  of  barer  style  than  this  may  easily  be  found,  instances  of 
colder  style,  —  few  better  instances  of  purer  style.  Not  a  single  expres- 
sion (the  invocation  in  the  concluding  couplet  perhaps  excepted)  can  be 
spared,  yet  not  a  single  expression  rivets  the  attention."  The  great 
subject,  he  adds,  the  religious  aspect  of  a  city  about  to  awaken  and  be 
alive,  is  the  only  idea  left  in  our  mind.  "  To  Wordsworth  has  been 
vouchsafed  the  last  grace  of  the  self-denying  artist  —  you  think  neither 
of  him  nor  his  style,  but  you  cannot  help  thinking  of  — you  must  recall 
—  the  exact  phrase,  the  very  sentiment  he  wished." 


.VOTES.  495 


"IT    IS    A    BEAUTEOUS    EVENING,"  etc. 

"  Composed,"  Wordsworth  says,  "  on  the  beach  near  Calais,"  in 
August,  1802  ;  published  in  1807.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  writes  in  her 
Journal  :  "  We  found  Annette  and  Caroline  chez  Madame  Avril.  .  .  . 
We  walked  by  the  seashore  almost  every  evening  with  Annette  and 
Caroline,  or  William  and  I  alone."  Who  Annette  and  Caroline  were 
I  do  not  know,  but  one  of  them  may  have  been  the  "  Dear  Child  !  dear 
Girl ! "  of  the  sonnet.  Attempted  improvements  were  made  in  the 
sonnet  in  1837  and  1840,  from  some  of  which  Wordsworth  reverted  to 
the  earlier  text. 

I.  This  line  returned  in  1845  **^  ^^e  original  reading.  In  1837, 
"Air  sleeps,  —  from  strife  or  stir  the  clouds  are  free";  in  1840,  "A 
fairer  face  of  evening  cannot  be." 

5.  Broods  o'er  :  before  1837,  "is  on." 

6.  Listen  !  a  return  in  1840  to  the  original  text ;  in  1837,  "  But 
list ! "  —  as  if  there  were  an  opposition  between  the  sound  of  the  sea 
and  the  quietude  of  the  evening. 

9,  10.  In  1840  Wordsworth  returned  to  the  earliest  text,  which  was 
as  now  except  that  "  appear'st  "  stood  for  "appear";  altered  in  1845. 
In  1837  : 

Dear  Child  !  dear  happy  Girl !  if  thou  appear 
Heedless  —  untouch'd  with  awe  or  serious  thought, 

In  1838  1.  10  became  "Heedless — unawed,  untouch'd  \vith  serious 
thought."  For  another  contrast  between  the  reflective  and  the  child- 
like nature,  each  justified  after  its  kind,  see  "  Ode  to  Duty,"  and  com- 
pare the  last  line  of  the  sonnet  ''  Sole  listener,  Duddon." 


COMPOSED   AFTER   A  JOURNEY  ACROSS  THE  HAMBLE- 
TON    HILLS,  YORKSHIRE. 

"  Composed,"  says  Wordsworth,  "  October  4th,  1802,  after  a  journey 
on  a  day  memorable  to  me  —  the  day  of  my  marriage.  The  horizon 
commanded  by  those  hills  is  most  magnificent."  The  sonnet,  with  that 
which  follows,  was  published  in  1807.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  in  her 
Journal  describes  the  sky-prospect,  and  it  is  not  possible  to  say  whether 
her  Journal  is  derived  from  the  sonnet  or  the  sonnet  from  the  Journal. 
"  Far  off  from  us,"  she  writes,  "  in  the  western  sky  we  saw  shapes  of 
castles,  ruins  among  groves,  a  great  spreading  wood,  rocks  and  single 


496  NOTES. 

trees,  a  minster  with  its  tower  unusually  distinct,  minarets  in  another 
quarter,  and  a  round  Grecian  Temple  also ;  the  colours  of  the  sky  of  a 
bright  gray,  and  the  forms  of  a  sober  gray,  with  a  dome." 

Compare  with  this  sonnet  "Sky-Prospect  —  From  the  Plain  of 
France  "  in  "  Memorials  of  a  Tour  on  the  Continent,  1820,"  and  also 
the  magnificent  description  in  "  The  Excursion,"  Bk.  ii,  11.  830-869. 

1-3.     The  present  text  is  of  1837.     In  1807  : 

Ere  we  had  reach'd  the  wish'd  for  place,  night  fell : 
We  were  too  late  at  least  by  one  dark  hour, 
And  nothing  could  we  see  of  all  that  power 

"Night"  was  a  word  inappropriate  for  an  hour  just  after  sunset.     In 

1815: 

Dark  and  more  dark  the  shades  of  Evening  fell ; 
The  wish'd  for  point  was  reach'd ;  but  late  the  hour, 
And  little  could  we  see  of  all  that  power 

In  1827:  "  And  little  could  be  gained  from  all  that  dower,"  leaving  only 
a  touch  to  be  added  in  1837. 

5-12.  The  text  here  was  also  reached  in  1827,  except  that  in  1.  5 
the  reading  was  "in  all  its  power."     In   1807  : 

The  western  sky  did  recompense  us  well 
With  Grecian  Temple,  Minaret,  and  Bower; 
And,  in  one  part,  a  Minster  with  its  Tower 
Substantially  distinct ;  a  place  for  Bell 
Or  clock  to  toll  from.     Many  a  glorious  pile 
Did  we  behold,  sight  that  might  well  repay 
All  disappointment !  and,  as  such,  the  eye 
Delighted  in  them ; 

Observe  that  to  improve  the  sonnet  Wordsworth  did  not  hesitate  to 
depart  from  the  regular  arrangement  of  rhymes  in  the  octave.  This 
reading  of  1807  remained  little  altered  until  1827  ;  in  181 5  1.  10  became 
"  Did  we  behold,  fair  sights  that  might  repay,"  and  in  1.  8  "  expressed  " 
replaced  "  distinct." 

"THOSE    WORDS    WERE   UTTERED,"  etc. 

The  date  is  uncertain  ;  published  with  the  preceding  sonnet  in  1807. 
I,  2.     In  1807  : 

These  words  were  uttered  in  a  pensive  mood 
Even  while  mine  eyes  were  on  that  solemn  sight ; 

In  181 5  :  "  Mine  eyes  yet  lingering  on  that  solemn  sight." 


NOTES. 


497 


The  opening  word  in  all  editions  (except  1838)  previous  to  1845  ^'^ 

"  these." 

6.     Before  1827  :  "  It  is  unstable,  and  deserts  me  quite." 

9.     Before  1827  :  "  The  Grove,  the  sky-built  Temple,  and  the  Dome." 


COMPOSED   AT    [NEIDPATH]    CASTLE. 

Written  on  Sept.  18,  1803  ;  published  in  1807.  The  text  is  unchanged. 
Neidpath  Castle  is  near  Peebles,  overlooking  the  Tweed.  Scott  had 
told  Wordsworth  on  September  17  of  the  fact  that  the  Duke  of  Queens- 
berry  was  felling  the  trees. 

2.     Despite,  malice. 

12.  Bosoms,  curvatures  of  the  river  banks.  Compare  Fairfax, 
■  Tasso,"  XIX,  8  : 

Where  into  creeks  and  bosoms  blind 

A  winding  hill  his  corners  turn'd  and  cast. 

R.  Burton  speaks  of  "a  bosom  of  the  South  Cape  of  Massachusetts 
Bay." 

"NUNS    FRET   NOT,"  etc. 

Of  uncertain  date  ;  published  in  1807.  The  idea  of  liberty  vrithin  a 
voluntary  limitation  is  frequent  in  Wordsworth's  poems.  See  "  Ode  to 
Duty,"  and  "  In  the  Pass  of  Kirkstone  "  the  following  lines,  in  which 
constraint,  even  without  choice,  is  justified : 

Be  thankful,  even  though  tired  and  faint, 
For  the  rich  bounties  of  constraint ; 
Whence  oft  invigorating  transports  flow 
That  choice  lacked  courage  to  bestow. 

6.  Furness-fells.  "  The  hills  east  of  the  Duddon,  south  of  the 
Brathay,  and  west  of  Windermere."  —  Knight. 

9.  For  me  :  one  of  Wordsworth's  latest  corrections  ;  before  1849, 
"  to  m.e." 

14.  Brief  solace:  before  1827,  "short  solace."  Perhaps  changed 
to  avoid  the  repeated  "  s  "  in  the  line. 

For  a  commentary  on  the  idea  of  this  sonnet,  see  Sir  Henry  Taylor's 
article  on  "  Wordsworth's  Sonnets." 


498  NOTES. 

ADMONITION. 

Written  not  earlier  than  1802  nor  later  than  1807,  the  date  of  pub- 
lication. In  his  "  Guide  to  the  Lakes,"  Wordsworth  writes  of  the  cot- 
tages :  "  These  humble  dwellings  remind  the  contemplative  spectator  of 
a  production  of  Nature  [see  1.  7],  and  may  (using  a  strong  expression) 
rather  be  said  to  have  grown  than  to  have  been  erected,  —  to  have 
risen  by  an  instinct  of  their  own  out  of  the  native  rock,  —  so  little  is 
there  in  them  of  formality,  such  is  their  wildness  and  beauty." 

I.  Before  1837  :  "  Yes,  there  is  holy  pleasure  in  thine  eye!  "  Per- 
haps Wordsworth  thought  the  "  holy  pleasure  "  would,  without  admoni- 
tion, preclude  all  danger  of  coveting  the  abode. 

5.  Forbear  to  sigh:  before  1827,  "O  do  not  sigh."  The  "do" 
was  too  nearly  followed  by  "  As  many  do." 

7.  Before  1827  :  "  Sighing  a  wish  to  tear  from  Nature's  book." 

8.  Precious  leaf:  before  1827,  "blissful  leaf."  "Harsh  impiety" 
in  181 5  replaced  "worst  impiety." 

9.  Must  be :  before  1827,  "  would  be "  ;  the  change  strengthens 
the  poet's  plea. 

14.  Before  1838  this  closing  line  was  a  needless  alexandrine,  "  would 
melt  and  melt  away  !  " 


"THE   WORLD    IS   TOO   MUCH   WITH   US,"  etc. 

The  date  of  this  sonnet  is  uncertain  ;  it  was  first  published  in  1807, 
and  the  only  change  in  the  text  is  the  word  "rising"  in  1.  13,  which 
was  substituted  in  1827  for  the  earlier  "coming."  Lines  13,  14  seem 
to  be  written  with  a  memory  of  Spenser's  "  Colin  Clout 's  come  Home 
Again,"  11.  244-248  : 

Of  them  the  shepheard  which  hath  charge  in  chief 
Is  Triton,  blowing  loud  his  wreathed  home  : 

And  Proteus  eke  with  him  does  drive  his  heard. 

"  Pleasant  lea"  is  found  in  the  same  poem. 

In  the  "  Excursion,"  Bk.  iv,  Wordsworth  expresses  the  thought  that 
superstition  is  better  than  apathy,  —  even  the  vulgar  superstitions  of 
a  village,  and  much  more  the  noble  mythology  of  Greece,  which  he 
describes  later  in  the  same  book  : 

Rather  would  I  instantly  decline 
/  To  the  traditionary  sympathies 

Of  a  most  rustic  isrnorance,  and  take 


NOTES.  499 

A  fearful  apprehension  from  the  owl 

Or  death-watch  :  and  as  readily  rejoice 

If  two  auspicious  magpies  crossed  my  way ;  — 

To  this  would  rather  bend  than  see  and  hear 

The  repetitions  wearisome  of  sense, 

Where  soul  is  dead,  and  feeling  hath  no  place. 


TO    SLEEP. 

One  of  three  sonnets  "  To  Sleep,"  written  at  some  time  between 
1802  and  the  date  of  publication,  1807. 

5.  This  line  caused  Wordsworth  much  consideration.  It  dates 
from  1845.  From  1807  to  1820:  "I  've  thought  of  all  by  turns;  and 
still  I  lie."  The  contraction  "  I  've  "  was  disapproved,  and  edd.  1827 
and  1832  read  :  "  By  turns  have  all  been  thought  of;  yet  I  lie."  From 
1837  to  1843  (except  "Sonnets,"  1838):  "I  thought  of  all  by  turns, 
and  yet  I  lie."  In  1838  (only)  :  "I  have  thought  of  all  by  turns  and 
yet  I  lie."  The  jingle  "  I  lie  "  following  "  I  "  at  the  opening  of  the  line 
offended  Wordsworth's  ear,  and  the  present  reading  was  substituted. 

13.     Between:  before  1832,  "betwixt." 


"WHERE    LIES   THE   LAND,"  etc. 

The  composition  cannot  be  earlier  than  1802  nor  later  than  1807, 
the  date  of  publication. 
2,  3.     Before  1837  : 

Festively  she  puts  forth  in  trim  array ; 
As  vigorous  as  a  lark  at  break  of  day. 


TO   THE   MEMORY    OF   RAISLEY    CALVERT. 

Date  uncertain,  but  between  1802  and  1807,  when  this  sonnet  was 
published.  The  text  is  unchanged.  Raisley,  brother  of  Wordsworth's 
friend  William  Calvert,  died  of  consumption  at  Penrith  in  1795  !  ^'^'^- 
ing  his  last  illness  Wordsworth  remained  with  him.  In  his  will  it  was 
found  that  he  had  left  Wordsworth  ;^900,  not  merely  as  a  token  of 
friendship,  "but  because  he  believed  that,  if  Wordsworth  were  only 
free  from  the  pressure  of  monetary  cares,  he  would  write  something  in 
verse  or  prose  that  would  benefit  the  world  "  (Knight).  See  "  The 
Prelude,"  Bk.  xiv,  11.  354-369. 


-500 


NOTES. 


"METHOUGHT   I    SAW   THE    FOOTSTEPS,"  etc. 


The  date  is  uncertain,  but  between  1802  and  1807,  when  it  was  pub- 
lished. Wordsworth  connected  with  this  sonnet  another  written  many 
years  after,  with  a  recollection  of  the  appearance  in  death  of  his 
wife's  sister,  Sarah  Hutchinson,  who  died  in  June,  1836.  The  latter 
part  of  the  present  sonnet  had  been  a  great  favourite  with  her. 
3.  Who  might  sit:  before  181 5,  "him  who  sate." 
9.  Before  1837  :  "  I  seem'd  to  mount  those  steps  ;  the  vapours 
gave";  in  1837:  "Those  steps  I  mounted,  as  ['while,'  1838]  the 
vapours  gave";  in  1840:  "  Those  steps  I  clomb  ;  the  opening  vapours 
gave."  The  present  text  is  of  1845.  "  I  seem'd  "  detracted  from  the 
authentic  character  of  the  vision. 


"BROOK!    WHOSE    SOCIETY   THE    POET    SEEKS." 

Of  uncertain  date,  perhaps  after  1807  ;  first  published,  181 5. 

6.  Before  1827  :  "  If  I  some  type  of  thee  did  wish  to  view  " ;  altered 
to  avoid  the  feeble  "  did  wish." 

13.  Safer  :  before  1845,  "  better."  "  Better  "  went  ill  with  "  good  " 
as  a  noun,  being  itself  the  comparative  of  the  adjective  "  good." 


TO   LADY   BEAUMONT. 

Written  early  in  1807  and  published  in  the  same  year.  Dorothy 
Wordsworth  refers  to  the  sonnet  in  a  letter  of  February,  1807.  The 
Wordsworths  were  residing  at  the  farmhouse,  Coleorton,  and  Mrs. 
Wordsworth,  Dorothy,  and  the  poet  superintended  the  formation  of  a 
winter  garden  for  Lady  Beaumont. 

2.  In  1807:  "framing  beds  of";  in  181 5:  "framing  beds  for." 
The  present  text  is  of  1827.  The  word  "frame"  had  been  frequently 
and  somewhat  inaccurately  used  by  Wordsworth  in  early  editions,  and 
he  found  substitutes  in  a  large  number  of  passages  in  the  later  editions. 
See  The  Academy,  Dec.  2,  1893,  for  Mr.  T.  Hutchinson's  full  discus- 
sion of  Wordsworth's  use  of  this  word. 


NOTES. 


50» 


UPON   THE    SIGHT   OF   A    BEAUTIFUL   PICTURE. 

Written  in  1811  at  the  Parsonage,  Grasmere ;  published  in  181 5. 
The  picture  is  one  of  Bredon  Hill  and  Cloud  Hill  near  Coleorton ;  the 
images  of  the  smoke  and  the  travellers  are  taken  from  it.  "  The  rest," 
Wordsworth  wrote  to  Sir  G.  Beaumont,  "  were  added  in  order  to  place 
the  thought  in  a  clear  point  of  view,  and  for  the  sake  of  variety." 
During  the  later  part  of  Wordsworth's  residence  at  the  Parsonage  he 
lost  two  children.  "  Our  sorrow,"  he  says,  "  upon  these  events  often 
brought  the  sonnet  to  my  mind,  and  cast  me  upon  the  support  to  which 
the  last  line  of  it  gives  expression,  — '  The  appropriate  calm  of  blest 
eternity.' " 

9,  Before  1838  "Art"  was  not  personified,  "which,"  not  "whom," 
occurring  in  the  line. 

14.  Appropriate  calm,  etc.,  the  calm  belonging,  as  an  attribute, 
to  Eternity. 

"SURPRISED    BY    JOY,"  etc. 

"  This  sonnet  was,"  says  Wordsworth,  "  suggested  by  my  daughter 
Catherine  long  after  her  death.  Catherine  Wordsworth  died  on  June 
4,  1812,  in  her  fourth  year.  The  sonnet  was  published  in  1815.  The 
poem  "  Characteristics  of  a  Child  Three  Years  Old"  was  suggested  by 
Catherine  in  1811.  Dorothy  Wordsworth  describes  her  as  "comical  in 
every  look  and  motion." 

2.  Turned:  an  improvement  —  like  the  next  —  of  1820.  In  18 15, 
"  wished." 

3.  Deep  buried:  in  181 5,  "long  buried." 

II,  12.     Wordsworth  was  away  from  home  when  Catherine  died. 

"  HAIL,   TWILIGHT,"  etc. 

This  sonnet  is  of  uncertain  date  ;  first  published,  181 5.  It  is  prob- 
ably later  than  1807.  The  text  is  unchanged,  except  that  "  flood  "  in 
1.  13  replaced  in  1837  "floods." 

"  I    WATCH    AND    LONG    HAVE    WATCHED,"  etc. 

Written  probably  between  181 5  and  the  date  of  publication,  1819. 
This  sonnet  was  omitted  from  one  edition  —  that  of  1827 — possibly 
because  Wordsworth  then  believed  that  its  desponding  close  was  alien 


502 


NOTES. 


from  the  higher  spirit  of  poetry;  but  he  knew  that  it  was  the  true 
expression  of  a  mood  of  his  mind  and  restored  it  in  1832.  "  Sug- 
gested," he  says,  "  in  front  of  Rydal  Mount,  the  rocky  parapet  being 
the  summit  of  Longhrigg  Fell  opposite.  Not  once  only,  but  a  hundred 
times,  have  the  feelings  of  the  sonnet  been  awakened  by  the  same 
objects  seen  from  the  same  place." 
7-9.     Before  1837  : 

He  burns,  transmuted  to  a  sullen  fire 

That  droops  and  dwindles ;  and,  the  appointed  debt 

To  the  flying  moments  paid,  is  seen  no  more. 

The  words  "  sullen  fire "  are  of  interest  to  the  student  of  Words- 
worth in  connection  with  another  sonnet,  —  that  beginning  "  Even  as 
a  dragon's  eye,"  —  where  a  cottage  taper  amid  the  mountains  is  com- 
pared to  a  sepulchral  lamp  "  sullenly  glaring  "  ;  in  all  editions  (except 
1838)  from  1827  to  1849  this  is  printed  "suddenly  glaring,"  and  so  in 
posthumous  editions  except  that  in  the  Aldine  Series  ;  but  "  sullenly  " 
is  right  and  may  be  compared  with  a  "  sullen  star  "  in  "  The  Excursion," 
Bk.  iv,  and  the  expression  "  sullen  light,"  of  a  blown-out  candle  with 
smouldering  wick,  which  is  found  in  Wordsworth's  prose. 

II.     Before  1837  :  "glory,  pitiably  decline." 

See  the  sonnet  "  After-Thought,"  p.  332,  as  showing  one  of  Words- 
worth's thoughts  of  resistance  to  such  despondency  as  is  expressed 
here. 


TO    B.    R.    HAYDON. 

This  sonnet  was  written  in  December,  181 5,  and  was  published  by 
Haydon  (with  two  other  sonnets)  in  Leigh  Hunt's  Journal,  The  Exam- 
iner, March  31,  1816;  again  published  by  Wordsworth  in  the  same 
year.  The  text  is  unchanged.  Benjamin  Robert  Haydon,  the  painter, 
born  in  1786,  painted  the  portrait  of  Wordsworth  on  Helvellyn,  and 
introduced  his  portrait  among  the  figures  of  "  Christ's  Entry  into  Jeru- 
salem." His  want  of  success  caused  Haydon's  mind  to  give  way,  and 
on  June  20,  1846,  he  shot  himself  in  his  studio  before  an  unfinished 
picture.  In  a  letter  to  Wordsworth  of  Nov.  27,  181 5,  he  expressed  the 
"  highest  enthusiasm  "  for  Wordsworth's  genius,  and  wrote  of  himself  : 
"  I  will  bear  want,  pain,  misery,  and  blindness,  but  I  will  never  yield 
one  step  I  have  gained  on  the  road  I  am  determined  to  travel  over." 


I 


NOTES. 


NOVEMBER    i. 


503 


Written  in  December,  1815;  published,  1816.  "Suggested,"  says 
Wordsworth,  "  on  the  banks  of  the  Brathay  by  the  sight  of  Langdale 
Pikes." 

3.  In  1816:  "Which,  strewn  with  snow  as  pure  as  Heaven  can 
shed";  in  1832:  "  snow  smooth  as  the  heaven  can  shed."  The  final 
text  is  that  of  1837. 

A  characteristic  of  the  snow-clad  mountains,  not  brought  out  in  this 
sonnet,  is  dealt  with  in  Wordsworth's  "  Guide  to  the  Lakes,"  —  the 
varieties  of  colour  in  various  lights  and  shadows,  which  takes  away 
from  the  monotony  of  snow. 

"SOLE    LISTENER,    DUDDON!"etc. 

No.  V  of  "  The  River  Duddon  "  sonnets.  This  series  was  written 
at  intervals  during  many  years  and  was  published  in  1820.  The  text 
is  unchanged.  "  The  Duddon  rises  on  Wrynose  Fell,  near  to  the 
'  Three-Shire  Stone,'  where  Westmoreland,  Cumberland,  and  Lan- 
cashire meet  "  (H.  Rix,  in  Knight's  "  Wordsworth  ").  This  sonnet  is 
"  generally  taken  to  be  descriptive  of  Cockley  Beck.  Here,  as  we 
emerge  from  Wrynose  Bottom,  the  first  trees  meet  the  eye,  after  a 
full  two  miles  of  monotony  and  stones,  and  here,  too,  is  the  first  cot- 
tage." The  cottage  is  not  now  surrounded  by  "  sheltering  pines,"  but 
Mr.  Rix,  from  whom  I  quote,  ascertained  ( The  Athenaum,  July  18, 
1891,  p.  98)  from  natives  of  the  valley  that  the  pines  had  been  there 
within  living  memory. 

On  the  Duddon  sonnets,  see  "  Wordsworth  and  the  Duddon,"  in 
"  Holiday  Studies  of  Wordsworth,"  by  Rev.  F.  A.  Malleson  (Cassell 
&  Co.,  1890). 

THE    PLAIN    OF    DONNERDALE. 

This  is  No.  XX  of  "  The  River  Duddon  "  series'.  The  text  is  un- 
changed. Donnerdale,  says  Mr.  Rix  (in  Knight's  "  Wordsworth  ")  is 
strictly  "  the  district  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Duddon  from  Broughton 
up  to  Ulpha  Bridge,  and  extending  thence  parallel  by  Seathwaite,  from 
which  it  is  divided  by  fells." 

14.  Thyrsus :  Gr.  66paros,  a  staff  or  spear  wrapped  with  ivy  and 
vine  branches.  The  Bacchanals  bore  thyrsi  when  celebrating  the 
orgies  of  Bacchus. 


504 


NOTES. 


"  RETURN,   CONTENT  I  "  etc. 


No.  XXVI  of  "  The  River  Duddon "  series.  See  note  on  "  Sole 
Listener,  Duddon  !  "  The  only  variation  of  text  is  in  1.  7,  where  the 
"  Sonnets  "  volume  of  1838  —  and  this  alone  —  reads,  "  Sparkling  like 
salt-sea  billows." 

8.  Choral  multitude.  This  expression,  applied  to  streams,  is  of 
interest  to  the  student  of  Wordsworth  as  helping  to  fix  the  text  in  a 
line  of  the  poem,  "  To on  her  First  Ascent  to  the  Summit  of  Hel- 

vellyn  " : 

Thine  are  all  the  choral  fountains  , 

Warbling  in  each  sparry  vault 

Of  the  untrodden  lunar  mountains ; 

"Choral"  appears  in  1820  and  1827;  "coral"  in  all  later  editions 
(except  that  in  the  Aldine  series).  I  cannot  doubt  that  "  choral  "  is  the 
true  reading. 

AFTER-THOUGHT. 

The  concluding  sonnet  of  "  The  River  Duddon  "  series. 

5.  Happily,  Wordsworth  in  this  line  returned  in  1840  to  the  text  as 
found  in  the  first  form  of  1820  ("The  River  Duddon"  volume).  In 
"Miscellaneous  Poems,"  1820,  and  all  other  editions  before  1840: 
"  Still  glides  the  stream  and  shall  not  cease  to  glide." 

14.  Wordsworth  quotes  as  a  parallel  Milton's  "  And  feel  that  I 
am  happier  than  I  know"  ("  Paradise  Lost,"  VIII,  282),  and  he  adds  : 
"  The  allusion  to  the  Greek  poet  will  be  obvious  to  the  classical 
reader."     He  refers  here  to  1.  103  in  the  "  Lament  of  Bion  ": 

A/i/jies  5"  oi  neydXoi  Kal  Kaprepol  ij  ao<l>ol  &v5pes 

of  which  the  line  of  the  sonnet,  "  While  we,  the  brave,  the  mighty,  and 
the  wise,"  is  a  reminiscence. 


BETWEEN    NAMUR   AND   LIEGE. 

No.  VI  of  "Memorials  of  a  Tour  on  the  Continent,  1820"  ;  prob- 
ably written  in  182 1  ;  published  in  1822.  The  text  is  unchanged.  In 
the  Fenwick  note  Wordsworth  says :  "  The  scenery  on  the  Meuse 
pleases  me  more,  upon  the  whole,  than  that  of  the  Rhine,  though  the 
river  itself  is  much  inferior  in  grandeur.     The  rocks,  both  in  form  and 


NOTES.  305 

colour,  especially  between  Namur  and  Liege,  surpass  any  upon  the 
Rhine,  though  they  are  in  many  places  disfigured  by  quarries,  whence 
stones  were  taken  for  the  new  fortifications."  Professor  Knight,  in 
Wordsworth's  "  Poetical  Works,"  vol.  VI,  gives  extracts  from  Mary 
Wordsworth's  Journal  of  this  tour,  and  in  the  "  Life  of  Wordsworth," 
vol.  Ill,  extracts  from  Dorothy's  Journal. 


THE  MONUMENT  COMMONLY  CALLED  LONG  MEG  AND 
HER  DAUGHTERS. 

First  published  in  "  A  Description  of  the  Scenery  of  the  Lakes," 
1822;  probably  written  in  1821.  In  a  letter  to  Sir  G.  Beaumont, 
Jan.  6,  1821,  Wordsworth  tells  how  his  road  suddenly  brought  him 
into  presence  of  Long  Meg  and  her  Daughters  :  "  Next  to  Stonehenge 
it  is,  beyond  dispute,  the  most  noble  relic  of  the  kind  that  this  or  prob- 
ably any  other  country  contains."  It  is  situated  six  miles  northeast  of 
Penrith,  in  the  lake  district.  Wordsworth's  note  on  the  sonnet  is  the 
following:  "The  daughters  of  Long  Meg,  placed  in  a  perfect  circle 
eighty  yards  in  diameter,  are  seventy-two  in  number  above  ground  ;  a 
little  way  out  of  the  circle  stands  Long  Meg  herself,  a  single  stone, 
eighteen  feet  high.  When  I  first  saw  this  monument,  as  I  came  upon 
it  by  surprise,  I  might  overrate  its  importance  as  an  object ;  but 
though  it  will  not  bear  a  comparison  with  Stonehenge,  I  must  say  I 
have  not  seen  any  other  relique  of  those  dark  ages  which  can  pretend 
to  rival  it  in  singularity  and  dignity  of  appearance." 

4.  Before  1837  :  "  When  first  I  saw  that  Sisterhood  forlorn." 

5.  In  1822  :  "  And  Her,  who.se  strength  and  stature  seem  to  scorn." 
"  Seem  "  is  feeble,  and  ed.  1827  reads,  "  And  Her,  whose  massy  strength 
and  stature  scorn."     The  present  text  is  of  1837. 

12.  In  1827  :  "  Thy  progeny,  in  hieroglyphic  round."  The  present 
text  is  of  1837.     In  1822,  11.  11-13  were  less  imaginative  : 

When,  how,  and  wherefore,  rose  on  British  ground 
That  wondrous  Monument,  whose  mystic  round 
Forth  shadows,  some  have  deemed,  to  mortal  sight. 

SECLUSION. 

This  and  the  following  sonnet  are  XXI  and  XXII,  part  I,  of  "  Eccle- 
siastical Sonnets";  probably  written  in  1821  ;  published  in  1822. 

12.     Strictures  serpentine,  serpentine  compressions.     It  is  curious 


5o6 


NOTES. 


to  note  how  Wordsworth's  diction  became  Latinized  in  describing  a 
somewhat  similar  phenomenon  in  "  Yew-Trees,"  11.  17,  18  : 

Of  intertwisted  fibres  serpentine 
Up-coiling,  and  inveterately  convolved ; 

13.  Before  1837  :  "  Yet,  while  they  strangle  without  mercy,  bring." 
There  was  a  certain  paradox  in  mercilessness  and  bringing  recompense, 
which  the  later  text  removed. 

CONTINUED. 

7.     Sylvan:  before  1837,  "forest." 

9.     Before  1827  :  "  Perchance  would  throng  my  dreams." 

13.     Thorp,  village  or  hamlet.     Vill,  a  manor  or  a  farm. 


RURAL   CEREMONY. 

This  is  sonnet  XXXII,  part  III,  of  "Ecclesiastical  Sonnets."  It 
was  published  in  1822  and  probably  was  written  in  1821.  The  cere- 
mony, as  Wordsworth's  note  informs  the  reader,  "  is  still  continued  in 
many  churches  in  Westmoreland.  It  takes  place  in  the  month  of  July, 
when  the  floor  of  the  stalls  is  strewn  with  fresh  rushes,  and  hence  it  is 
called  the  '  Rush-bearing.'  " 

We  print  the  sonnet  from  the  text  of  1827,  which  detaches  itself 
bettei  than  the  earlier  or  later  forms  -from  the  sequence  of  sonnets. 
Originally  it  followed  "  Catechizing,"  and  the  opening  was : 

With  smiles  each  happy  face  was  overspread, 
That  trial  ended.     Give  we  to  a  day 

In   1845  '*^  followed   a  number  of    sonnets  suggested   by  portions  of 
the  Church  Service,  and  the  opening  was  : 

Closing  the  sacred  Book  which  long  has  fed 
Our  meditations,  give  we  to  a  day 

In  1827  it  followed  "  Sacrament." 

3.     Annual:  in  1822,  "festal." 

13,  14.  Hooker  and  Laud  are  named  on  account  of  their  respect 
for  rites  and  ceremony. 


NOTES. 


MUTABILITY. 


507 


This  is  No.  XXXIV  of  part  III  of  "  Ecclesiastical  Sonnets  " ;  it  was 
probably  written  in  1821  and  was  published  in  1822.  A  preceding 
sonnet  of  the  series  expresses  regret  for  the  decay  of  graceful  rites  and 
usages  connected  with  the  Church,  and  one  which  follows  treats  gently 
of  the  fall  of  the  old  Abbeys. 

The  only  textual  change  deserving  notice  is  that  "his"  in  1837 
replaced  "  its  "  in  1.  12. 

14.  The  touch  of  Time  so  imperceptibly  fine  that  it  cannot  even  be 
brought  before  the  imagination. 


INSIDE    OF    KING'S    COLLEGE   CHAPEL. 

In  December,  1820,  Wordsworth  visited  Cambridge,  and  certainly 
Wrote  one  sonnet  on  that  occasion  ;  perhaps  the  three  suggested  by 
King's  College  Chapel  belong  to  that  date  ;  they  were  published  among 
the  "  Ecclesiastical  Sonnets  "  in  1822.  The  text  is  unchanged.  King's 
College  was  founded  by  King  Henry  VI,  and  there  is  good  ground  for 
believing  that  he  laid  in  person  the  first  stone  of  the  Chapel.  Fuller 
writes  :  "  The  Chapel  is  one  of  the  rarest  fabrics  in  Christendom, 
wherein  the  stonework,  woodwork,  and  glasswork  contend  which  most 
deserve  admiration.  Yet  the  first  generally  carries  away  the  credit  (as 
being  a  Stonehenge  indeed),  so  geome'trically  contrived  that  voluminous 
stones  mutually  support  themselves  in  the  arched  roof,  as  if  Art  had 
made  them  to  forget  Nature,  and  weaned  them  from  their  fondness  to 
descend  to  their  centre."     Mr.  Ruskin  is  far  from  being  so  enthusiastic. 


THE    SAME. 
2-4.      In  1822  (only)  : 

Their  portraiture  the  lateral  windows  hide, 
Glimmers  their  corresponding  stone-work,  dyed 
With  the  soft 

CONTINUED. 
The  text  is  unchanged. 

8.     That  younger  Pile,  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  London. 
12-14.      St.  Paul's  is  less  crowded  with  illustrious  dead  than  West- 
minster Abbey. 


5o8  NOTES. 


A    PARSONAGE   IN    OXFORDSHIRE. 

Written  in  1820  and  published  in  a  note  in  "  Ecclesiastical  Sketches," 
1822.  Wordsworth  was  engaged  upon  this  sonnet  at  Bruges  in  July, 
1820.  The  Parsonage  was  that  of  his  friend  the  Rev.  R.  Jones,  to 
whom  he  dedicated  "  Descriptive  Sketches." 

II,  12.     In  1822  (only)  : 

Meanwhile  between  these  Poplars,  as  they  wave 
Their  lofty  summits,  comes  and  goes  a  sky 


"A   VOLANT   TRIBE    OF    BARDS,"  etc. 

Probably  written  between  1820  and  1823;  first  published  in  1823  in 
Joanna  Baillie's  "  A  Collection  of  Poems  chiefly  MS.  and  from  living 
Authors." 

I.     Volant,  flying,  light  and  nimble,  here  with  a  touch  of  irony. 

3.  "Coignes  of  vantage"  from  "Macbeth,"  I,  6,  7,  a  corner  that 
may  be  taken  advantage  of. 

In  Joanna  Baillie's  "  Collection"  (only)  11.  4-10  run  thus: 

Work  cunningly  devised,  and  seeming  sound  ; 

But  quickly  from  its  airy  hold  unbound 

By  its  own  weight,  or  washed  or  blown  away 

With  silent,  imperceptible  decay. 

If  man  must  build  admit  him  to  thy  ground, 

O  Truth  !  to  work  within  the  eternal  ring, 

When  the  stars  shine, 

In  1.  12  also  "  when  "  is  found  in  1823. 


"  NOT    LOVE,   NOT    WAR,"  etc. 

The  date  is  uncertain;  first  published  in  1823  in  Joanna  Baillie's 
"  A  Collection  of  Poems  chiefly  MS.  and  from  living  Authors."  The 
only  changes  of  text  which  require  notice  are  the  following. 

7,  8.     Before  1837  : 

Watching  the  blue  smoke  of  the  elmy  grange 
Skyward  ascending  from  the  twilight  dell. 

In  1838  (only)  "  hut  "  stood  in  place  of  "  cot." 

12.     Diaphanous  :  Gr.  Sia^avi^s,  transparent,  translucent. 


NOTES.  509 

13.     Charm:  in  1823,  "please."     "Charm"   {\j3X.,  carmen,  2l  song) 
has  a  special  appropriateness  to  music. 

Observe  the  succession  of  double  rhymes  in  the  sextet. 


TO    [LADY    FITZGERALD],    IN    HER   SEVENTIETH    YEAR. 

The  date  is  probably  1824;  published  in  1827.  The  text  is  un- 
changed (except  "toward,"  in  1.  11,  substituted  for  "  towards  "  in  1832). 
The  "  Lady  bright "  was  Lady  Fitzgerald,  as  described  to  Wordsworth 
by  Lady  Beaumont.  Professor  Knight  prints  an  earlier  version,  sent 
by  Mary  Wordsworth  to  Lady  Beaumont,  Dec.  9,  1824 : 

Lady,  what  delicate  graces  may  unite 

In  age  —  so  often  comfortless  and  bleak  ! 

Though  from  thy  unenfeebled  eye-balls  break 

Those  saintly  emanations  of  delight, 

A  snow-drop  let  me  name  thee ;  pure,  chaste,  white. 

Too  pure  for  flesh  and  blood  ;  with  smooth,  blanch'd  cheek, 

And  head  that  droops  because  the  soul  is  meek, 

And  not  that  Time  presses  with  weary  weight. 

Hope,  Love,  and  Joy  are  with  thee  fresh  as  fair ; 

A  Child  of  \\'inter  prompting  thoughts  that  climb 

From  desolation  towards  the  genial  prime  : 

Or,  Uke  the  moon,  conquering  the  misty  air 

And  filling  more  and  more  with  chrj-stal  light. 

As  pensive  evening  deepens  into  night. 

The  gain  in  the  sonnet  as  printed  in  1827  is  remarkable. 


■     "  SCORN    NOT   THE   SONNET,"  etc. 

This  sonnet,  composed  almost  extempore  in  a  short  walk  on  the 
western  side  of  Rydal  Lake,  is  of  uncertain  date  ;  probably,  however, 
after  1820,  and  certainly  not  later  than  1827,  when  it  was  published. 

The  only  textual  change  is  a  transposition  of  words  in  1.  6  ;  before 
1837,  "  Camoens  soothed  with  it." 

1,2.  Through  the  earlier  part  of  the  i8th  century  the  sonnet  was 
not  in  favour.  Johnson,  who  carried  on  this  feeling,  wrote  that  the 
fabric  of  a  sonnet  has  never  succeeded  in  our  language;  of  the  best  of 
Milton's  sonnets  "  it  can  only  be  said  that  they  are  not  bad."  "  Milton, 
Madam,"  he  said  to  Hannah  More,  "  was  a  genius  that  could  carve  a 
Colossus  from  a  rock,  but  could  not  carve  heads  upon  cherry  stones." 


5IO 


NOTES. 


Wordsworth  in  1.  12  refers  more  especially  to  Milton's  political  sonnets, 
which  first  inspired  his  own. 

2^3.  Shakspeare.  In  Wordsworth's  "Essay,  Supplementary  to 
the  Preface  "  to  "  Lyrical  Uallads,"  he  speaks  of  the  sonnets  of  Shak- 
speare as  expressing  "  his  own  feelings  in  his  own  person."  Robert 
Browning,  in  the  poem  "  House,"  writes : 

'  With  this  same  key, 
Shakespeare  unlocked  his  hearty  once  more ! 
Did  Shakespeare  ?     If  so,  the  less  Shakespeare  he  1 

4.  Petrarch's  wound.  The  sonnets  suggested  by  Laura  are  meant, 
especially  those  written  after  her  death. 

5.  Tasso.  Tasso's  sonnets  are  not  of  the  highest  order.  Some 
were  inspired  by  his  love  of  Leonora,  some  by  the  sufferings  of  his  life. 

6.  Camoens  was  banished  from  Lisbon  partly  on  the  ground  of  his 
passion  for  the  golden-haired  Donna  Caterina.  At  Goa  he  heard  of 
her  death,  and  laments  her  in  his  "  Rimas." 

8.  Dante.  Many  of  Dante's  sonnets  ■ndll  be  found  in  the  "  Vita 
Nuova,"  translated  by  Dante  Rossetti. 

10.  Spenser.  Spenser's  sonnets  tell  the  story  of  his  love  for  Eliza- 
beth Boyle,  who  became  his  wife. 

TO    ROTHA    QUILLINAN. 

The  date  of  the  sonnet  is  unknown ;  it  probably  lies  between  1820 
and  1827,  when  it  was  published.  The  text  is  unchanged.  Rotha  was 
the  daughter  of  Edward  Quillinan  (afterguards  married  to  Wordsworth's 
daughter)  by  his  first  wife.  Southey's  beautiful  lines  written  in  Rotha 
Quillinan's  album  may  be  compared. 

"IN    MY    MIND'S    EYE,"  etc. 

The  date  is  uncertain  ;  probably  between  1820  and  1827,  when  it 
was  published.     The  text  is  unchanged. 

2.     Invidious,  envious,  malignant,  hostile. 

ON   THE    DEPARTURE    OF    SIR    WALTER    SCOTT    FROM 
ABBOTSFORD    FOR   NAPLES. 

Written  in  1831,  a  day  or  two  after  Wordsworth  left  Abbotsford, 
and  published  in   the  "  Literary   Souvenir "  for  1833  ;   and   again  in 


NOTES. 


Sii 


"Yarrow  Revisited  and   other   Poems,"  1835.     The  text   remains  un- 
changed. 

For  the  occasion  which  suggested  this  sonnet,  see  note  to  "  Y&rrow 
Revisited." 

13.  The  midland  sea,  the  Mediterranean. 

14.  Parthenope,  the  classical  name  for  Naples,  from  the  siren  Par- 
thenope.  Her  tomb  was  there  shown,  and  a  torch-race  was  held  ever}' 
year  in  her  honour. 

THE   TROSSACHS. 

This  is  No.  VI  of  the  "  Yarrow  Revisited"  series,  1831  ;  published 
in  1835.  "  The  sentiment  that  runs  through  this  sonnet,"  Wordsworth 
says,  "  was  natural  to  the  season  in  which  I  again  saw  this  beautiful 
spot ;  but  this  and  some  other  sonnets  that  follow  were  coloured  by 
the  remembrance  of  my  recent  visit  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  the  melan- 
choly errand  on  which  he  was  going  \i.e.,  to  Italy  in  broken  health]." 

The  text  is  unchanged,  except  that  "  which  "  in  1.  5  in  1837  replaced 
"  that,"  and  in  1.  13  "  That  "  at  the  same  time  replaced  "  This." 

"THE    PIBROCH'S    NOTE,"  etc. 

No.  VII  of  the  "  Yarrow  Revisited  "  series,  composed  during  a  tour 
in  the  autumn  of  1831  ;  published  in  1835.  The  only  textual  changes 
are  the  substitution  in  1845  °^  "  And  of  "  in  1.  9  for  the  earlier  "  And 
some,"  and  the  personifying  of  imagination  at  the  same  date  by  "  she  " 
in  1.  13  replacing  "it." 

I.  Pibroch,  either  the  series  of  variations  played  on  the  bagpipe, 
or  used,  as  by  Byron  in  "  Lachin  Gair,"  for  the  bagpipe  itself. 

EAGLES. 

No.  IX  of  the  "Yarrow  Revisited "  series  ;  written  in  1831,  pub- 
lished in  1835.  In  the  autumn  of  1829  Wordsworth  visited  Ireland  ; 
this  sonnet  contains  a  reminiscence  in  his  verse  of  the  Irish  tour, 
in  its  reference  to  the  eagle  which  he  saw  on  the  wing  (1.  5)  off  the 
promontor}'  of  Fairhead,  County  Antrim.  He  travelled  through  Ireland 
in  October,  when  the  days  were  short,  and  with  speed,  in  a  carriage  and 
four,  to  which  circumstances,  he  says,  "  may  be  ascribed  this  want  of 
notices,  in  my  verse,  of  a  country  so  interesting."  His  spirits  and 
imagination  also  were  depressed  by  the  sight  of  Irish  misery. 

12.      Before  1845  :  "  In  spirit  for  a  moment  he  resumes." 


512 


NOTES. 


HIGHLAND    HUT. 


Written  in  1831,  the  year  of  Wordsworth's  visit  to  Abbotsford  and 
of  "  Yarrow  Revisited";   published  in  1835.     ^^^  ^^^^  ^^  unchanged. 

TO   THE    PLANET   VENUS,   AN    EVENING    STAR. 

No.  XVII  of  the  "  Yarrow  Revisited"  series;  written  in  1831,  pub- 
lished in  1835.     The  text  is  unchanged. 

1.  Orient,  rising. 

12.     This  seat  of  care,  the  earth. 

ROMAN    ANTIQUITIES. 

No.  XXV  of  the  "Yarrow  Revisited"  series;  written  in  1831,  pub- 
lished in  1835.  The  text  was  not  altered,  except  one  word,  "  tenacious  " 
in  1.  10,  which  in  1837  replaced  "insatiate." 

12.     Fibulae  (Lat.),  buckles,  clasps. 

14.     Lacrymals,  vessels  intended  to  contain  tears. 

TO   THE   AUTHOR'S    PORTRAIT. 

The  portrait  was  painted  in  1832  and  now  hangs  in  the  Hall  of  St. 
John's  College;  an  autograph  copy  of  the  sonnet  is  in  the  Library. 
The  sonnet  was  probably  then  written  ;  it  was  published  in  1835. 
Pickersgill's  portrait,  which  fails  to  give  the  strength  of  Wordsworth's 
countenance,  has  been  frequently  engraved.  "  The  last  six  lines," 
Wordsworth  said,  "  are  not  written  for  poetical  effect,  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  which,  in  more  than  one  instance,  could  not  escape  my  notice 
in  the  servants  of  the  house."  The  text  is  unchanged  except  that 
"  And,"  1.  8,  replaced  in  1837  "  To." 

2.  Wordsworth's  College,  St.  John's,  Cambridge,  was  founded  by 
the  Lady  Margaret,  Countess  of  Richmond  and  Derby,  mother  of 
King  Henry  VII.  She  died  June  29,  1509;  the  College  was  begun  in 
or  about  1511  and  was  formally  opened  by  Bishop  Fisher  in  1516. 

IN    SIGHT   OF   THE   TOWN    OF   COCKERMOUTH. 

This  is  one  of  the  poems  composed  or  suggested  during  a  tour  in 
the  summer  of  1833  ;  it  was  published  in  1835.     The  text  is  unchanged 


NOTES. 


MARY  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 


513 


One  of  the  poems  composed  or  suggested  during  a  tour  in  the 
summer  of  1833  ;  published  in  1835.  Mary  escaped  from  her  imprison- 
ment at  Lochleven  May  2,  1568.  On  May  16  she  crossed  the  Solway 
in  a  fishing  boat  to  Workington  in  Cumberland  ;  thence  she  was  con- 
ducted with  many  marks  of  respect  to  Carlisle. 

3,  4-     In  1835  : 

And  to  the  throng  how  touchingly  she  bowed 
That  hailed  her  landing  on  the  Cumbrian  shore ; 

Altered  in  1837  to  bring  "  throng  "  and  "  that  "  into  closer  connection. 

5.  Before  1840:  "Bright  as  a  Star  (that,  from  a  sombre  cloud," 
except  "  Sonnets,"  1838,  which  reads,  "And  like  a  Star  (that,  from  a 
sombre  cloud."  In  four  instances  where  he  had  used  the  word 
"sombre"  or  "  sombrous  "  in- early  texts,  Wordsworth  found  substi- 
tutes, apparently  reserving  it  for  the  meaning  "  affording  shade  "  and 
not  using  it  in  the  sense  of  "  dark  "  or  "  dusky."  Over  and  over  again, 
Wordsworth,  as  he  mentions  in  the  Fenwick  note.,  paused  at  the  sight 
of  what  he  here  describes,  seen  among  the  Scotch  firs  near  Ambleside, 
and  particularly  those  near  Green  Bank. 

9.  Saturnian.  Saturn  is  generally  identified  with  the  Greek 
Kronos  (Time),  and  is  often  represented  as  an  old  man  bent  through 
age,  holding  in  his  right  hand  a  scythe. 


"DESIRE    WE    PAST    ILLUSIONS   TO    RECALL?" 

No.  XIV  of  poems  composed  or  suggested  during  a  tour  in  the 
summer  of  1833.  It  sets  forth  more  clearly,  perhaps,  than  anything 
else  that  Wordsworth  has  written  his  view  of  modern  science  and  its 
limitations. 

12.  In  1835  (on^y)  ■•  "  Of  Power,  whose  ministering  Spirits  records 
keep"  ;  altered,  perhaps,  on  account  of  the  excess  of  elision  in  "  power," 
"  ministering,"  and  "  spirits." 


BY   THE    SEASHORE,    ISLE   OF   MAN. 

No.  XVI  of  the  poems  composed   or  suggested  during  a  tour  in 
the  summer  of  1833.     The  text  is  unchanged. 


5U 


NOTES. 


""THERE!'    SAID    A    STRIPLING, "  etc. 


One  of  the  poems  composed  or  suggested  during  a  tour  in  the  summer 
of  1833  ;  published  in  1835.  "^'^^  ^^^^  ^^  unchanged.  Wordsworth's 
Fenwick  note  is  interesting  in  its  criticism  of  Burns  and  may  be  given 
in  full :  "  Mossgiel  was  thus  pointed  out  to  me  by  a  young  man  on  the 
top  of  the  coach  on  my  way  from  Glasgow  to  Kilmarnock.  It  is  remark- 
able that,  though  Burns  lived  some  time  here,  and  during  much  the  most 
productive  period  of  his  poetical  life,  he  nowhere  adverts  to  the  splen- 
did prospects  stretching  towards  the  sea  and  bounded  by  the  peaks  of 
Arran  on  one  part,  which  in  clear  weather  he  must  have  had  daily 
before  his  eyes.  In  one  of  his  poetical  effusions  he  speaks  of  describ- 
ing '  fair  Nature's  face '  as  a  privilege  on  which  he  sets  a  high  value ; 
nevertheless,  natural  appearances  rarely  take  a  lead  in  his  poetry.  It  is 
as  a  human  being,  eminently  sensitive  and  intelligent,  and  not  as  a 
poet,  clad  in  his  priestly  robes  and  carrying  the  ensigns  of  sacerdotal 
ofifice,  that  he  interests  and  affects  us.  Whether  he  speaks  of  rivers, 
hills,  and  woods,  it  is  not  so  much  on  account  of  the  properties  with 
which  they  are  absolutely  endowed,  as  relatively  to  local  patriotic 
remembrances  and  associations,  or  as  they  ministered  to  personal  feel- 
ings, especially  those  of  love,  whether  happy  or  otherwise ;  —  yet  it  is 
not  always  so.  Soon  after  we  had  passed  Mossgiel  Farm  we  crossed 
the  Ayr,  murmuring  and  winding  through  a  narrow  woody  hollow. 
His  line  — '  Auld  hermit  Ayr  strays  through  his  woods'  —  came  at 
once  to  my  mind  with  Irwin,  Lugar,  Ayr,  and  Doon,  —  Ayrshire 
streams  over  which  he  breathes  a  sigh  as  being  unnamed  in  song ;  and 
surely  his  own  attempts  to  make  them  known  were  as  successful  as  his 
heart  could  desire." 

4.  The  Daisy.  See  Burns's  "  To  a  Mountain  Daisy,"  written  "  on 
turning  one  up  with  the  plough." 

6.     Arran,  a  mountainous  island,  off  the  coast  of  Ayrshire. 

9.  Bield,  shelter.  The  quotation  is  from  Burns's  "  To  a  Mountain 
Daisy." 

"TRANQUILLITY!   THE    SOVEREIGN    AIM,"  etc. 

One  of  the  poems  composed  or  suggested  during  a  tour  in  the 
summer  of  1833 !  published  in  1835.  ^^  was  suggested  by  a  sonnet 
(which  precedes  it  in  the  series)  on  the  monument  of  Mrs.  Howard  by 
Nollekens  in  Wetheral  Church,  near  Corby,  on  the  banks  of  the  Eden, 


NOTES. 


515 


County  Cumberland.  The  monument,  which  Wordsworth  had  previ- 
ously seen  in  the  sculptor's  studio,  represents  the  mother  dying,  her 
dead  infant  upon  her  lap ;  the  mother's  head  is  raised  heavenward,  and 
one  hand  touches  tenderly  the  child. 

1,2.  "  dTopa|/a  was  the  aim  of  Stoic,  Epicurean,  and  Sceptic  alike." 
—  Knight. 

12.     That  Idea,  the  idea  of  the  Infinite. 


"MOST    SWEET    IT    IS,"  etc. 

One  of  the  poems  composed  or  suggested  during  a  tour  in  the 
summer  of  1833  ;  published  in  1835.     The  text  is  unchanged. 

10.  Commerce,  intercourse  or  converse,  as  in  "  The  Prelude,"  Bk. 
xiv,  354  : 

We  sank 
Each  into  commerce  with  his  private  thoughts. 


COMPOSED  ON  A  MAY  MORNING. 

This  sonnet  was  written  in  1838  and  was  published  in  the  volume 
of  "  Sonnets  "  of  the  same  year.     The  text  is  unchanged. 


"A    POET!  — HE    HATH    PUT,"  etc. 

It  is  unknown  when  this  sonnet  was  written  ;  perhaps  between  1838, 
when  a  collected  volume  of  "  Sonnets  "  appeared,  and  1842  when  it  was 
first  published.  Wordsworth  says  that  he  was  impelled  to  write  it  by 
"the  disgusting  frequency  with  which  the  word  '  artistical,'  imported 
with  other  impertinances  from  the  Germans,  is  employed  by  writers  of 
the  present  day ;  for  artistical  let  them  substitute  artificial,  and  the 
poetry  written  on  this  system,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  will  be  for  the 
most  part  much  better  characterized."  The  text  is  unchanged.  The 
converse  truth  to  Wordsworth  is  expressed  by  Burke  when  he  writes, 
"  Art  is  man's  Nature,"  and  by  Shakespeare  in  "  The  Winter's  Tale," 
IV,  4: 

.  .  .  this  is  an  art 

Which  does  mend  nature,  change  it  rather,  but 

The  art  itself  is  nature. 


5i6  NOTES. 


THE    PINE   OF   MONTE   MARIO   AT   ROME. 

One  of  the  "  Memorials  of  a  Tour  in  Italy,  1837  ";  probably  written 
in  1840  or  1841  ;  published  in  1842.  The  text  is  unchanged.  When 
the  sun  had  just  set  on  Apr.  26,  1837,  two  hours  after  entering  Rome, 
Wordsworth  and  Crabb  Robinson  walked  to  the  Pincian  Hill.  The 
sculptor  Theed  informed  them  that  the  pine-tree  had  been  rescued  by 
the  artist  Sir  George  Beaumont,  Wordsworth's  dead  friend,  who  paid 
a  sum  of  money  on  the  condition  that  the  proprietor  would  not  cut  it 
down.  Later  Wordsworth  ascended  the  Monte  Mario  and  could  not 
resist  embracing  the  tree-trunk.  "  I  could  almost  have  kissed  it,"  he 
wrote  home,  "  out  of  love  for  his  memory." 


TO   A    PAINTER   AND   ON   THE    SAME    SUBJECT. 

Written  in  1840,  when  Miss  Margaret  Gillies,  staying  at  Rydal 
Mount,  painted  portraits  of  Mary  Wordsworth  and  of  her  husband  the 
poet;  published  in  1842.  The  text  is  unchanged.  Wordsworth  wrote 
to  his  daughter,  Apr.  7,  1840 :  "  Dearest  Dora,  your  mother  tells  me 
she  shrinks  from  copies  being  spread  of  those  sonnets ;  she  does  not 
wish  one,  at  any  rate,  to  be  given  to  Miss  Gillies,  for  that,  without 
blame  to  Miss  Gillies,  would  be  like  advertising  them.  I  assure  you 
her  modesty  and  humble-mindedness  were  so  much  shocked,  that  I 
doubt  if  she  had  more  pleasure  than  pain  from  these  compositions, 
though  I  never  poured  out  anything  more  truly  from  the  heart." 


"WANSFELL!    THIS    HOUSEHOLD,"   etc. 

Dated  by  Wordsworth  Dec.  24,  1842;  first  published  in  1845.     Text 
unchanged. 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


A  barking  sound  the  Shepherd 
hears,  205. 

A  flock  of  sheep  that  leisurely 
pass  by,  323. 

A  Poet! — He  hath  put  his  heart 
to  school,  350. 

A  point  of  life  between  my  Par- 
ent's dust,  345. 

A  Rock  there  is  whose  homely 
front,  288. 

A  simple  Child,  24. 

A  slumber  did  my  spirit  seal,  54. 

A  trouble,  not  of  clouds,  or  weep- 
ing rain,  341. 

A  volant  Tribe  of  Bards  on  earth 
are  found,  338. 

A  weight  of  awe,  not  easy  to  be 
borne,  333. 

Alas  !  what  boots  the  long  labori- 
ous quest,  317. 

All  praise  the  Likeness  by  thy 
skill  portrayed,  351. 

Amid  the  smoke  of  cities  did  you 
pass,  106. 

An  age  hath  been  when  Earth  was 
proud,  259. 

An  Orpheus  !  an  Orpheus  !  yes. 
Faith  may  grow  bold,  214. 

And  is  this  —  Yarrow  ?  —  This  the 
Stream,  251. 


Another   year!  —  another    deadly 

blow,  315. 
Art  thou  a  Statist  in  the  van,  55. 
Art  thou  the  bird  whom  Man  loves 

best,  138. 
At  the   corner  of    Wood    Street, 

when  daylight  appears,  22. 

Before  I  see  another  day,  35. 
Behold  her,  single  in  the  field,  178. 
Behold,    within    the    leafy   shade, 

128. 
Beneath    these    fruit-tree    boughs 

that  shed,  165. 
Blest    is    this    Isle  —  our    native 

Land,  273. 
Bright    Flower !    whose   home   is 

everywhere,   161. 
Brook  and  road,  198. 
Brook !    whose  society    the    Poet 

seeks,  325. 
By  their  floating  mill,  213. 

Calm  is  the  fragrant  air.  and  loth 

to  lose,  296. 
Calvert !  it  must  not  be  unheard 

by  them,  324. 
Child  of  loud-throated  War  !  the 

mountain  Stream,  179. 
Clarkson  !  it  was  an  obstinate  hill 

to  climb,  315. 


5i8 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES. 


Clouds,    lingering    yet,    extend    in 

solid  bars,  316. 
Come  ye  —  who,  if  (which  Heaven 

avert!)  the  Land,  183. 
Content  with  calmer  scenes  around 

us  spread,  335. 

Dark  and  more  dark  the  shades  of 

evening  fell,  320. 
Dear  Child   of  Nature,  let    them 

rail,  129. 
Dear   to   the    Loves,  and   to  the 

Graces  vowed,  346. 
Degenerate  Douglas  !  oh,  the  un- 
worthy Lord,  321. 
Departing  summer  hath  assumed, 

268. 
Desire  we  past  illusions  to  recall, 

346. 
Dishonoured    Rock     and    Ruin  I    I 

that,  by  law,  342. 
Dust  as  we  are,  the  immortal  spirit 

grows,  68. 

Earth    has  not  anything  to  show 

more  fair,  319. 
Ethereal  minstrel  !  pilgrim  of  the 

sky,  280. 

Fair  is  the  Swan,  whose  majesty, 
prevailing,  258. 

Fair  Star  of  evening.  Splendour  of 
the  west,  307. 

Farewell,  thou  little  Nook  of 
mountain-ground,  153. 

Five  years  have  past ;  five  sum- 
mers, with  the  length,  45. 

From  low  to  high  doth  dissolution 
cUmb,  335. 

From  Stirling  castle  we  had  seen, 
181. 


Go,  faithful  Portrait !  and  where 
long  hath  knelt,  345. 

Had  this  effulgence  disappeared, 

264. 
Hail,  Twilight,   sovereign  of   one 

peaceful  hour,  328. 
Hast  thou  then  survived  — ,  189. 
Here  pause  :    the  poet   claims  at 

least  their  praise,  318. 
High  in  the   breathless  Hall  the 

Minstrel  sate,  229. 
High    is    our    calling.    Friend !  — 

Creative  'Art,  329. 
Hope  rules  a  land  forever  green, 

285. 
How   clear,  how  keen,  how  mar- 
vellously bright,  329. 
How  profitless  the  relics  that  we 

cull,  344. 

I  am  not  One   who  much  or  oft 

delight,  218. 
I  grieved  for  Buonaparte,  with  a 

vain,  308. 
I  have  seen,  243. 
I  heard  a  thousand  blended  notes, 

30- 
I  saw  an  aged  Beggar  in  my  walk, 

38. 

I  saw  far  off  the  dark  top  of  a 
Pine,  350. 

I  shiver,  Spirit  fierce  and  bold, 
168. 

I  thought  of  Thee,  my  partner  and 
my  guide,  332. 

I  travelled  among  unknown  men, 
52. 

I  've  watched  you  now  a  full  half- 
hour,  140. 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud,  185. 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


519 


I    was  thy  neighbour  once,    thou 

rugged  Pile,  207. 
I  watch,  and  long  have  watched, 

with  calm  regret,  328. 
If  from  the  public  way  you  turn 

your  steps,  1 10. 
If  Nature,   for   a  favourite  child, 

74- 
If  this  great  world  of  joy  and  pain, 

297. 
In  my  mind's  eye  a  Temple,  like  a 

cloud,  340. 
In  one  of  those  excursions,  may 

they  ne'er,  194. 
In  the  sweet  shire  of  Cardigan,  27. 
In  these  fair   vales  hath  many  a 

Tree,  288. 
In   this   still   place,  remote   from 

men,  176. 
In  youth  from  rock  to  rock  I  went, 

156. 
Inland,    within    a    hollow    vale,  I 

stood,  310. 
Is  it  a  reed  that 's  shaken  by  the 

wind,  307. 
It   is   a  beauteous  evening,  calm 

and  free,  319. 
It  is  not  to  be  thought  of  that  the 

Flood,  312. 
It  is  the  first  mild  day  of  March, 

It  seems  a  day,  72. 
It  was  an  April   morning  :    fresh 
and  clear,  104. 

Lady !  the  songs  of  Spring  were 
in  the  grove,  326. 

Lance,  shield,  and  sword  relin- 
quished, at  his  side,  333. 

Let  us  quit  the  leafy  arbour, 
261. 


Life  with  yon  Lambs,  like  day,  is 

just  begun,  349. 
Loud  is  the  Vale  !  the  Voice  is  up, 

221. 
Loving     she    is,    and     tractable, 

though  wild,  237. 

Methinks    that    to    some    vacant 

hermitage,  334. 
Methought  I  saw  the  footsteps  of 

a  throne,  325. 
Milton  !  thou   should'st  be  living 

at  this  hour,  311. 
Most  sweet  it   is   with   unuplifted 

eyes,  348. 
My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold. 

Nay,  Traveller  !  rest.  This  lonely 
Yew-tree  stands,  3. 

Not  in  the  lucid  intervals  of  life, 
299. 

Not  Love,  not  War,  nor  the  tu- 
multuous swell,  338. 

Not  'mid  the  World's  vain  objects 
that  enslave,  317. 

Nuns  fret  not  at  their  convent's 
narrow  room,  322. 

O    blithe    New-comer !      I    have 

heard,  136. 
O  dearer  far  than  light  and  life 

are  dear,  277. 
O  Friend  !  I  know  not  which  way 

I  must  look,  311. 
O  Nightingale !    thou    surely   art, 

229. 
O  thou  !  whose  fancies  from  afar 

are  brought,  155. 
Oft  have  I  caught,  upon  a  fitful 

breeze,  277. 
Oft  I  had  heard  of  Lucy  Gray,  57. 


S20 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


Oh  !  pleasant  exercise  of  hope 
and  joy,  200. 

On  Man,  on  Nature,  and  on  Hu- 
man Life,  125. 

Once  did  She  hold  the  gorgeous 
east  in  fee,  309. 

Once  more  to  distant  ages  of  the 
world,  242. 

Pansies,    lilies,    kingcups,   daisies, 

140. 
Pleasures  newly  found  are  sweet, 

143- 
Praised  be  the  Art  whose  subtle 
power  could  stay,  327. 

Return,  Content !  for  fondly  I  pur- 
sued, 331. 

Rotha,  my  Spiritual  Child !  this 
head  was  grey,  340. 

Scorn    not    the    Sonnet ;    Critic, 

you  have  frowned,  339. 
See    what   gay  wild  flowers  deck 

this  earth-built  Cot,  343. 
Serene,  and  fitted  to  embrace,  254. 
She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden 

ways,  52. 
She   had  a  tall   man's   height   or 

more,  132. 
Six   thousand    veterans   practised 

in  war's  game,  314. 
Small  service  is  true  service  while 

it  lasts,  300. 
So  was  he  lifted  gently  from  the 

ground,  198. 
Sole    listener,    Duddon  !    to    the 

breeze  that  played,  330. 
Stay  near  me  —  do  not  take   thy 

flight,  135. 
Stern    Daughter  of  the  Voice  of 

God,  202. 


Strange   fits    of    passion   have    I 

known,  51. 
Such  age  how  beautiful !     O  Lady 

bright,  339. 
Surprised    by   joy — impatient    as 

the  Wind,  327. 
Sweet     Highland     Girl,    a     very 

shower,  173. 

Tax  not  the  royal  Saint  with  vain 

expense,  336. 
The  Cock  is  crowing,  137. 
The  daisy  sleeps  upon  the  dewy 

lawn,  280. 
The  dew  was  falling  fast,  the  stars 

began  to  blink,  loi. 
The  gallant  Youth,  who  may  have 

gained,  290. 
The  Knight  had  ridden  down  from 

Wensley  Moor,  80. 
The  little  hedgerow  birds,  44. 
The  Minstrels  played  their  Christ- 
mas tune,  270. 
The  old  inventive  Poets,  had  they 

seen,  330. 
The    pibroch's     note,    discounte- 
nanced or  mute,  342. 
The   post-boy    drove    with    fierce 

career,  130. 
The  power  of  Armies  is  a  visible 

thing,  318. 
The  sky  is  overcast,  23. 
The  Sun,  that   seemed  so  mildly 

to  retire,  298. 
The  sylvan  slopes  with  corn-clad 

fields,  267. 
The  world  is  too  much  with  us  : 

late  and  soon,  323. 
There    is    a   change  —  and   I   am 

poor,  212. 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


There  is  a  Flower,  the  lesser  Cel- 
andine, 191. 
There  is  an  Eminence,  —  of  these 

our  hills,  109. 
There  is  a  Yew-tree,  pride  of  Lor- 

ton  Vale,  167. 
"  There  !  "  said  a  Stripling,  point- 
ing with  meet  pride,  347. 
There 's  not    a    nook   within  this 

solemn  Pass,  341. 
There  was  a  Boy;   ye  knew  him 

well,  ye  cliffs,  50. 
There  was  a  roaring  in  the  wind 

all  night,  145. 
There  was  a  time  when  meadow, 

grove,  and  stream,  222. 
These  times  strike  monied  world- 
lings with  dismay,  313. 
"These  Tourists,  heaven  preserve 

us  !  needs  must  live,"  87. 
They  dreamt  not  of  a  pedshable 

home,  337. 
Those  words   were  uttered   as  in 

pensive  mood,  320. 
Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and 

shower,  53. 
'T  is,  by  comparison,  an  easy  task, 

238. 
Though    I    beheld    at    first    with 

blank  surprise,  351. 
Though   joy   attend  Thee    orient 

at  the  birth,  343. 
Though    many   suns    have    risen 

and  set,  282. 
To   a    good    Man    of   most    dear 

memory,  300. 
Too  frail  to  keep  the  lofty  vow,  171. 
Toussaint,  the  most  unhappy  man 

of  men,  309. 
Tranquillity !    the    sovereign    aim 

wert  thou,  348. 


'T  was  summer,  and  the  sun  had 

mounted  high,  5. 
Two  Voices  are  there ;  one  is  of 

the  sea,  310. 

"  Up,  Timothy,  up  with  your  staff 

and  away,"  109. 
Up !    up !    my    Friend,    and   quit 

your  books,  34. 
Up  with  me !  up  with  me  into  the 

clouds,  204. 

Vanguard  of  Liberty,  ye  men  of 
Kent,  314. 

Wansfell  !  this  Household  has  a 

favoured  lot,  352. 
We  talked  with  open   heart,  and 

tongue,  78. 
We    walked    along,    while    bright 

and  red,  75. 
Well  may'st  thou  halt  —  and  gaze 

with  brightening  eye,  322. 
What    awful   perspective !    while 

from  our  sight,  336. 
What  crowd  is  this  ?  what  have  we 

here  !  we  must  not  pass  it  by, 

216. 
"  What  is  good  for  a  bootless  bent" 

235- 

What  lovelier  home  could  gentle 
Fancy  choose,  332. 

"  What,  you  are  stepping  west- 
ward?"—"Yea,"  177. 

When  first,  descending  from  the 
moorlands,  304. 

When  I  have  borne  in  memory 
what  has  tamed,  312. 

When  Ruth  was  left  half  desolate, 

59- 
When,  to  the  attractions    of   the 
busy  world,  162. 


522 


INDEX   OF  FIRST  LINES. 


Where  are  they  now,  those  wan- 
ton Boys,  134. 

Where  art  thou,  my  beloved  Son, 
186. 

Where  holy  ground  begins,  un- 
hallowed ends,  337. 

Where  lies  the  Land  to  which  yon 
Ship  must  go,  324. 

Where  will  they  stop,  those  breath- 
ing Powers,  294. 

Who  is  the  happy  Warrior  ?  Who 
is  he,  209. 

Why  stand  ye  gazing  on  the 
sparkling  Brine,  347. 


"  Why,  William,  on  that  old  grey 
stone,"  32. 

Wisdom  and  Spirit  of  the  uni- 
verse, 70. 

With    little    here    to    do    or   see, 

159- 
"  With  sacrifice  before  the  rising 

morn,"  245. 
Within    our    happy.  Castle    there 

dwelt  One,  150. 

Yes,    it  was  the  mountain   Echo, 

218. 
Yes,  that  heartless  chase,  192. 


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